THE  WHITE 
ISLJANDER 


BY* 


RY-HARTWELL-CATHERWOOD- 


THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 


'THEY  ARE  MY  OWN  FLOWER.' 


THE 

WHITE    ISLANDER 


BY 


MARY  HARTWELL   CATHERWOOD 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  ROMANCE  OF  DOLLARD," 
"THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THE   CENTURY   CO. 
1900 


Copyright,  1893,  by 

MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD 


J.  F.  TAPLEY  CO. 

New  York 


PREFACE 


r  I  AHE  Island  of  Mackinac,  set  in  the  most 
A  translucent  waters  on  this  continent,  with 
Huron  on  one  side  of  it  and  Michigan  on  the 
other,  greatly  fascinates  both  tourist  and  stu- 
dent. No  landscape-gardening  and  placard- 
ing of  commercial  man  can  ever  quite  spoil 
its  wild  beauty.  The  white  cliffs  and  the 
shaggy  wilderness  defy  him.  Across  the 
strait,  westward,  is  St.  Ignace,  where  Father 
Marquette's  grave  may  yet  be  seen,  though 
the  birch-bark  coffin  holding  his  bones  has 
been  removed  to  another  shrine.  On  every 
anniversary  of  the  removal,  the  Manito  of  the 
island  remembers  that  despoiling,  and  never 
fails  to  bring  a  storm  on  the  lakes.  Across 
the  strait,  southward,  on  the  mainland,  the 
site  of  Fort  Michilimackinac  may  easily  be 
found.  An  irregular  excavation,  a  scattered 
orchard  and  clusters  of  gooseberry-bushes,  a 


viii  PREFACE 

long  stretch  of  deep  yellow  sand,  and  the 
eternal  glitter  of  the  lake,  remain  from  the 
old  tragedy. 

Skull  Rock  is  yet  known  on  the  island  as 
Henry's  Cave.  A  venerable  islander,  Mr. 
Cable,  told  me  he  had  found  skulls  there  in 
his  boyhood. 

Through  French,  British,  and  early  Ameri- 
can occupation,  Mackinac  was  the  center  of 
the  fur  trade.  Indians  and  traders  met  here. 
The  crescent  bay  swarmed  with  strange 
figures,  and  packs  of  beaver  were  carried 
from  canoe  to  warehouse,  the  traffic  of  a  con- 
tinent and  the  result  of  a  year's  labor  being 
disposed  of  in  a  few  brief  days.  The  Ameri- 
can Fur  Company  had  its  headquarters  at 
Mackinac,  and  living  islanders — Dr.  Bailey 
and  James  Lasley  —  can  tell  much  of  the  life 
it  annually  brought  to  break  in  one  great 
wave  upon  the  strip  of  beach.  You  might 
close  your  eyes  when  the  moon  is  large  over 
the  summer  lakes,  and  almost  hear  again  the 
roaring  song  of  coureurs  de  bois  around  the 
turn  of  the  bay. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"  THEY  ARE  MY  OWN  FLOWER  " Frontispiece 


"AN  INDIAN  GIRL  STOOD  THERE  WITH  A  BLANKET 
IN  HER  HANDS  " 5 

WAWATAM 41 

"  BUT  NO  PRIEST  CAN  BE  A  HUSBAND  " 109 


"FATHER  JONOIS  WAS  BEGINNING  THE   MARRIAGE 
SERVICE  " 153 


CONTENTS 


PART   I 

PAGE 

FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  . .  I 


PART    II 
THE   GHOST-FLOWER 36 

PART   III   , 
THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND 80 

PART   IV 
THE   HIGH   PLATEAU 127 


THE   WHITE    ISLANDER 
PART  I 

FORT    MICHILIMACKINAC 

THE  young  fur-trader,  Alexander  Henry, 
sat  in  his  house  within   the   fort,  writ- 
ing letters.     The  June  day  was  sultry.     Such 
midsummer  heat  was  rarely  felt  on  the  straits 
where  the  great  lakes  mingled. 

The  Chippewa  Indians  of  the  settlement 
were  playing  a  game  of  baggatiway  with 
some  neighboring  Sacs,  and  as  they  pursued 
the  ball  across  half  a  mile  of  sandy  beach 
from  one  post  to  the  other,  their  shouts 
approached  or  retreated.  The  fortress  gates 
stood  open,  officers  and  soldiers  lounging 
outside  to  watch  the  game.  Henry  could  see 
the  expanse  of  sparkles  which  Lake  Michi- 
gan spread  beyond  the  palisade  tips.  Fort 
Michilimackinac  was  one  of  the  oldest  out- 


2  THE    WHITE   ISLANDER 

posts  of  civilization  on  the  continent  The 
earliest  explorers  had  rested  here;  and  now 
that  French  rule  was  giving  way  before  the 
pressure  of  England,  this  post  grudged  itself 
to  the  new  colors  hanging  from  the  flagstaff. 
It  had  never  been  strongly  built,  having  only 
wooden  bastions  and  palisades,  and  it  had 
never  been  so  carelessly  guarded  as  on  this 
June  day. 

Within  the  area,  and  against  eastern  walls, 
which  gave  them  shadow,  sat  Chippewa 
squaws,  huddling  their  blankets  around  them 
in  spite  of  the  heat.  There  was  a  canoe  at 
the  beach,  just  arrived  from  Detroit,  and  the 
trader  made  haste  to  finish  his  letters  that  he 
might  go  out  and  inquire  the  news  of  the 
English  garrison  there.  His  habit  of  self- 
control  kept  him  at  his  task  while  the  whole 
settlement  played. 

A  trampling  rush  of  the  Indians  driving 
their  ball  to  the  post  nearest  the  fort  came 
like  a  sudden  rustle  of  the  lake  against  its 
beach.  Out  of  this  noise  rose  another,  echo- 
ing from  the  pine-woods  back  of  the  clearing, 
and  filling  the  sky's  hollow  and  the  lake's 
plane.  It  was  the  Indian  war-whoop,  and 
meant  death  to  the  garrison. 


FORT  MICHILIMACKINAC  3 

Henry  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  seized  his 
rifle,  expecting  to  hear  the  drum-call  to  arms. 
But  the  savages  took  the  fort  in  an  instant 
Not  an  English  voice  was  raised  except  in 
death-cries.  The  squaws  threw  back  their 
blankets,  revealing  the  weapons  they  had  car- 
ried into  the  inclosure,  and  gave  these  to  the 
swarming  Chippewas.  Half-naked  figures, 
their  rigid  sinews  working  like  lines  of  fire, 
struck  down  and  scalped  all  they  met  in  their 
furious  courses.  The  earth  seemed  turned  to 
a  frightful  picture,  and  incredible  things  were 
done  where  a  deceitful  tribe  had  just  been 
amusing  themselves  and  their  victims  with 
ball-play. 

That  long  moment  of  waiting  for  the  signal 
of  defense  blanched  the  young  trader.  It  was 
useless  for  him  to  take  up  arms  alone  against 
four  hundred  Indians.  He  saw  through  his 
open  windows  more  than  one  soldier  strug- 
gling between  buckskin  knees.  The  first 
savage  eye  turned  his  way  would  mark  him 
for  its  next  victim.  The  Canadians  of  the 
fort  stood  by  unhurt,  looking  at  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  English,  as  trees  appear  to  rise 
calmly  above  a  flood  which  they  cannot  stop, 
but  which  does  not  sweep  them  away.  That 


4  THE  WHITE  ISLANDER 

kindness  between  French  and  aboriginal 
blood,  which  grew  from  century  to  century, 
was  strongest  at  this  very  time.  The  French 
settlers  were  not  to  be  included  in  the  mas- 
sacre. 

Lake  Michigan  sparkled.  The  hot  sun- 
shine lay  unchanged  and  serene  on  a  turf 
soaking  pools  of  scarlet,  and  on  bodies  out- 
stretched or  doubled  upon  themselves  in 
heaps.  Henry  was  conscious  of  perfume 
from  the  garden  outside  the  palisades.  Bees 
were  stooping  to  gooseberry-bushes  or  search- 
ing the  apple-boughs.  A  water- freshened 
breeze  came  upon  the  land,  stirring  foliage, 
while  seventy  men  were  being  hacked  down 
by  six  times  as  many  savages.  The  gun 
sank  in  the  trader's  grasp.  He  looked 
around  for  some  hiding-place.  As  soon  as 
the  savages  left  off  slaughter  for  sacking, 
his  storehouse  would  be  their  first  thought. 
He  could  not  escape  through  the  palisades 
to  the  woods.  Langlade's  cottage  stood 
next  to  his.  The  French  family  were  gath- 
ered safely  within,  and  it  flashed  through 
Henry  that  they  might  mercifully  hide  him. 
He  had  reached  his  back  door,  when  it 
opened,  and  an  Indian  girl  stood  there  with 


"AN    INDIAN    GIRL    STOOD    THERE    WITH    A    BLANKET    IN    HER    HANDS  : 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  7 

a  blanket  in  her  hands.  She  was  Langlade's 
slave,  whose  name  her  owners  never  took 
the  trouble  to  pronounce.  They  called  her 
Pani,  from  her  tribe.  Her  copper  skin  had 
not  its  usual  tint,  the  grayness  of  extreme 
anxiety  clouding  it.  Pani  had  often  come 
into  the  storehouse,  and  stood  looking  at  the 
trader.  She  wore  silver  bands  riveted  on  her 
naked  ankles.  Her  rounded  arms  were  bare. 
Only  that  morning,  when  the  sun  showed  the 
crimson  of  her  cheeks,  Henry  had  noticed 
that  she  was  handsomer  than  the  girls  of  the 
northern  tribes ;  but  he  saw  her  now  as  the 
means  of  escape.  Pani  beckoned  to  him,  and 
threw  the  blanket  over  his  head.  The  trader 
knew  he  was  stumbling  on  the  low  fence, 
and  then  within  Langlade's  door.  It  was 
a  back  room  into  which  Pani  took  him,  and 
she  pushed  him  up  a  staircase.  The  mob's 
howling  filled  every  crevice  of  earth  and  sky 
that  sound  could  penetrate. 

They  reached  the  attic.  The  Indian  girl 
looked  at  him  earnestly  before  she  closed  the 
attic  door,  shaking  her  head  when  he  whis- 
pered his  thanks.  The  young  man  heard  her 
draw  the  key  from  the  lock  as  she  turned  it, 
and  her  moccasins  went  down-stairs  without 


8  THE  WHITE  ISLANDER 

his  knowledge.  She  had  put  him  out  of  the 
massacre  for  as  long  a  time  as  his  hiding- 
place  would  conceal  him.  There  were  no 
windows  in  this  roof-room,  but  Henry  found 
a  crevice  between  timbers  through  which  he 
could  look  into  the  fort.  Chippewa  voices 
were  already  raising  the  shout,  "It  is  done  !  " 
Some  half-naked  fellows  ran,  knife  in  hand, 
toward  the  storehouse.  At  the  same  instant 
he  heard  others  breaking  into  the  room 
below. 

Langlade's  house  had  nothing  but  a  layer 
of  boards  between  lower  rooms  and  attic. 
Distinctly  the  guttural  inquiry  rose  through 
loosely  covered  joists: 

"Are  any  English  hiding  in  this  house?" 
"I    do    not    know   of    any,"    replied    the 
Frenchman. 

"Where,  then,  is  the  trader?" 
"  You  can  search  for  him  if  you  think  he 
is  here,  and  satisfy  yourselves." 

The  man  in  the  attic  stood  up  and  looked 
around  him.  There  was  a  feather-bed  on  the 
floor,  and  in  one  corner  were  some  birch -bark 
vessels  and  troughs  used  in  making  maple 
sugar,  and  during  their  season  of  disuse  piled 
at  one  end  of  the  floor  under  the  low  rafters. 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  9 

Henry  crept  to  the  heap  and  inserted  him- 
self feet  foremost.  He  could  hear  the  crowd- 
ing of  moccasins  on  the  narrow  stairs  as  he 
labored.  Water  stood  in  chill  drops  on  his 
face.  He  dared  not  disturb  the  light  birch 
boxes  too  vigorously,  for  fear  they  would  fall 
with  a  clatter,  or  raise  suspicious  dust  in  the 
air.  Indians  have  many  senses  beside  sight. 
They  shook  the  locked  door,  and  bumped  it 
with  their  hatchets,  until  the  key  was  handed 
up  from  below.  Then  four  light-footed 
searchers  came  into  the  room. 

Henry  was  scarcely  concealed.  His  breath 
stopped.  He  expected  to  be  seized  and 
dragged  from  the  heap  instantly,  and  closed 
his  eyes  to  his  fate.  Buckskin  legs  trod 
around  in  the  darkness  of  the  attic,  kicking 
the  pile,  and  twice  brushing  against  him. 
The  boxes  rattled,  but  did  not  fall  apart. 
The  exhilarated  savages  talked  of  what  they 
had  done,  and  stood  counting  the  number  of 
scalps  they  had  taken.  Their  search  was 
rapid  and  careless.  They  trod  on  the 
feather-bed,  and  prodded  the  darkest  corners 
with  their  hatchets.  They  went  down-stairs, 
still  talking,  obligingly  locking  the  door 
again  before  returning  the  key. 


io  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

The  trader  crept  out  to  the  feather-bed  and 
lay  down,  exhausted  by  suspense.  His  body 
relaxed,  and  he  fell  soundly  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  as  black  as  midnight 
in  the  attic,  and  rain  was  beating  the  bark 
roof  over  his  head.  The  tinkling  and  the 
rush  of  streams  down  irregular  grooves 
soothed  him.  It  was  one  of  those  moments 
between  perils  when  a  fugitive  rests,  indiffer- 
ent to  his  pursuers.  He  could  hear  the  storm 
roaring  on  the  lake.  He  knew  it  was  wash- 
ing away  blood-stains  in  the  fort,  and  perhaps 
quenching  to  sullen  smoke  fires  which  the 
Indians  would  be  sure  to  start.  Their  voices 
in  drunken  cries  at  intervals  struck  across  the 
monotone  of  the  storm.  Casks  of  liquor 
were  long  ago  rolled  out  from  the  fort's 
stores.  In  the  rain,  or  under  shelter  of  bar- 
racks or  officers'  quarters,  the  victors  were 
sprawling  and  drinking. 

Henry  sat  up  and  looked  at  his  hopeless 
case.  He  was  probably  the  only  living  Eng- 
lishman in  Fort  Michilimackinac.  It  was  four 
hundred  miles  to  Detroit,  the  nearest  point 
of  safety.  If  the  door  were  unlocked,  or  if  he 
could  make  an  opening  in  the  roof  and  steal 
out  unseen  as  far  as  the  beach,  and  find  a 


FORT   MICHILIMAGKINAC  II 

canoe,  he  had  nothing  with  which  to  stock  it ; 
and  the  whole  route  lay  through  hostile 
tribes  who  were  evidently  united  in  rising 
against  the  English.  Yet  to  stay  was  to  die. 
The  Indians  knew  him  well.  They  owed 
him  for  goods.  By  morning  they  would 
search  him  out,  and  as  many  as  could  unite 
in  paying  him  with  their  hatchets  would  cut 
him  down. 

His  troubled  thoughts,  and  the  downpour 
on  the  roof,  must  have  shut  his  ears  to  noise 
in  the  room  below ;  for  he  was  startled  at 
seeing  a  rod  of  light  appear  under  the  attic 
door.  By  this  token  Henry  knew  a  candle 
was  coming  up-stairs. 

Monsieur  Langlade  was  the  bearer  of  it 

"You  searched  the  place  yourselves,"  he 
said  outside  the  door,  his  key  groping  for  its 
bolt  in  the  lock.  "  Very  good.  Look  again. 
Look  until  you  are  satisfied." 

The  door  swung  back,  and  Monsieur  Lang- 
lade  stepped  in,  lifting  his  candle  so  that  its 
sheen  fell  upon  naked  red  heads  and  shoul- 
ders gorging  the  staircase. 

The  young  trader  stood  up.  His  person 
expanded,  and  he  fixed  an  unmoving  eye  on 
the  rabble.  As  Monsieur  Langlade's  candle 


12  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

revealed  the  occupant  of  the  attic,  he  uttered 
a  nervous  cry.  It  was  for  the  children  asleep 
below,  rather  than  for  the  trader,  whose  con- 
cealment in  his  house  might  bring  vengeance 
on  them.  He  had  himself  so  many  times 
braved  death  with  coolness  that  it  did  not 
seem  to  him  the  worst  thing  which  could  be- 
fall a  man,  but  it  was  a  pitiable  thing  for  the 
very  young. 

The  foremost  savage  caught  Henry  by  the 
collar,  and  lifted  his  knife.  Death  was  en- 
dured in  that  action,  though  the  raised  arm 
was  not  permitted  to  inflict  it.  A  Chippewa 
in  hunting-dress  caught  the  knife-handle. 

The  little  yellow  flame  scarcely  showed  two 
struggling  figures,  or  the  faces  brought  close 
together  by  the  bracing  of  sinewy  limbs. 
Other  Indians  poured  into  the  attic,  but 
waited,  weapons  in  hand,  respecting  the  brief 
wrestle  of  the  two  for  the  knife.  In  the  midst 
of  this  effort  made  for  him,  Henry  was  con- 
scious that  a  mouse  squeaked  in  a  corner,  and 
he  saw  the  heap  of  birch-bark  troughs  enlarg- 
ing and  contracting  in  the  weird  play  of  light. 
Imperfect  as  was  his  knowledge  of  the  Chip- 
pewa tongue,  he  seized  the  meaning  of  the 
fierce  words  between  the  holders  of  the  knife. 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  13 

"  Will  you  kill  my  adopted  brother  before 
my  eyes  ? "  The  hunter  was  Wawatam. 
Henry  knew  his  voice. 

"We  will  make  broth  of  all  the  English." 

"  But  every  man  in  the  tribe  promised  me 
to  save  the  life  of  my  brother,  if  I  would  go 
away  and  not  tell  him.  I  went." 

"  We  know  that  well.  We  know  Wawatam 
went  hunting,  instead  of  lifting  the  hatchet 
against  the  English.  The  fort  at  Detroit  is 
taken,  and  all  the  tribes  are  risen  with  Pon- 
tiac  to  sweep  the  English  from  our  country. 
And  Wawatam  goes  hunting." 

"  Stop !  I  am  a  Chippewa,  but  I  cannot  eat 
my  brother's  people.  My  blood  is  in  his  arm, 
and  his  blood  is  in  my  arm.  I  cannot  eat  my 
own  blood." 

"  But  we  can  eat  all  the  English." 

"  Give  me  this  knife.  I  believed  you  were 
false  Chippewas,  and  so  I  came  back." 

"  Let  go  the  knife  !  " 

"  I  will  not  let  it  go.  I  have  brought  a 
present  to  give  in  exchange  for  my  brother. 
You  taunt  me  with  going  hunting.  I  went  to 
my  lodge." 

"  Yes ;  Wawatam  goes  to  his  lodge  in 
time  of  war." 


14  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

"It  is  well  for  you  now  that  you  hold  the 
knife.  I  am  no  woman,  but  neither  am  I  the 
eater  of  my  brother's  flesh.  Will  the  Chip- 
pewas  take  my  present  and  let  him  go,  or 
will  they  cut  down  one  of  their  chiefs  with 
their  enemies  ?  " 

The  Frenchman  who  held  the  light  waited 
the  end  of  this  dispute  with  more  visible 
anxiety  than  the  Englishman.  Henry  began 
to  feel  that  no  Indian  could  kill  him.  His 
brother  Wawatam  seemed  to  prevail.  The 
squad  of  warriors  remembered  their  prom- 
ise. They  were  a  people  ruled  only  by  per- 
suasive eloquence  moving  on  the  surface  of 
their  passions,  and  they  felt  in  their  own  lives 
and  practices  the  force  of  Wawatam's  plea. 
The  Chippewa  in  his  grasp  inquired  where 
his  present  was.  Wawatam  said  it  was  in 
the  kitchen  below.  His  antagonist  relaxed 
hold,  and  Monsieur  Langlade  lifted  the 
candle  high  to  light  the  descent. 

A  knot  of  bodies  emerged  from  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  Wawatam  keeping  close  to  Henry. 
Rain  was  pouring  down  the  kitchen  windows 
in  sheets,  showing  diamond  lights  against  a 
background  of  blackness.  The  muddy  prints 
of  many  moccasins  tarnished  Madame  Lang- 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  15 

lade's  scoured  floor.  Her  husband's  face  was 
drawn  with  anxiety  to  have  the  business  over 
and  the  party  out  of  his  house. 

Wawatam  dragged  his  packet  from  the 
spot  where  he  had  dropped  it,  and  stooped  to 
one  knee  while  he  uncorded  it.  Fine  skins 
and  wampum  enough  to  satisfy  the  greedy 
eyes  around  him  were  displayed  as  well  as 
the  light  could  display  them.  Wawatam 
was  quick  in  completing  his  tacit  bargain. 
Only  a  few  of  his  tribe  were  parties  to 
the  exchange,  and  so  jealous  and  changeable 
is  the  savage  nature  that  he  could  not  count 
on  their  continued  acceptance  of  it. 

"Take  your  brother/'  said  the  man  with 
whom  he  had  struggled  for  the  knife ;  and 
Wawatam  at  once  opened  the  door  and 
slipped  with  Henry  into  the  storm.  He  gave 
no  backward  glance  at  Chippewas  dividing 
the  furs,  or  the  Frenchman  waiting  their  plea- 
sure, but  he  and  Henry  made  their  way 
around  the  house  and  toward  the  palisade 
gate.  It  stood  wide  open.  They  could  see 
the  whiteness  of  the  hissing  lake.  Wawatam 
spoke  at  his  brother's  ear,  wind  and  water 
even  then  half  destroying  the  sound,  and 
directed  Henry  to  tread  close  behind  him. 


16  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

They  stumbled  across  bodies.  Lightning 
smote  the  world  vivid  with  its  glare,  and 
Henry  saw  one  of  those  faces;  but  Wawa- 
tam  swept  his  eye  around  for  living  and 
drunken  Chippewas.  He  mistook  a  shout 
for  the  outcry  of  discovery  and  pursuit,  and 
leaped  with  Henry  through  the  gate  into 
deep  wet  sand. 

The  Chippewa  chief  pushed  his  canoe  di- 
rectly out,  and  bade  his  brother  get  in.  They 
were  off  from  the  shore  in  a  breath,  each  bal- 
ancing himself  and  paddling  with  desperate 
care.  No  Indian  would  ordinarily  trust  his 
life  to  the  lake  on  such  a  night.  If  driven  to 
the  water,  he  would  skirt  the  shore.  But  Wa- 
watam  steered  out  across  the  straits  as  well  as 
he  could  in  the  darkness.  Their  first  efforts 
kept  the  two  men  from  seeing  anything  but 
the  lake  heaving  its  awful  shoulders  to  swamp 
them.  They  rode  swells  which  made  the  little 
boat  shiver.  Foam  hissed  around  them,  and 
stuck  upon  their  persons  in  white  specks.  But 
as  their  muscles  grew  to  acting  with  automa- 
tic sweep  and  balance,  the  universe  around 
them  could  be  swiftly  noticed.  There  was 
no  sky  except  when  the  lightning  spilled  it. 
Then  vision  flashed  abroad  to  immensity,  and 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  17 

suddenly  contracted  to  blindness.  Thunder 
bellowed  among  the  islands,  and  shook  like 
some  substance  afloat  in  the  air,  until  the  long 
reverberations  lost  themselves.  The  fort  was 
an  opaque  mass  against  a  low-lying  fore- 
ground, lighted  in  one  or  two  spots.  White 
Canadian  houses  behind  it  showed  their  sleek 
walls  as  phosphorescence,  and  then  vanished. 
The  scant  forest  on  the  mainland  pricked  out 
its  pine  points,  and  withdrew  them  again. 

Rain  trickled  down  Henry's  face,  and  his 
long  hair  clung  in  tendrils  around  his  neck 
and  ears.  He  had  no  hat.  Wawatam,  who 
never  wore  anything  on  his  shaven  poll  but  a 
chief's  decoration,  shone  when  electrical  light 
revealed  him.  Their  peril  grew  as  they  ad- 
vanced farther  into  the  waste  blackness.  The 
Englishman  answered  the  motions  of  his  pilot 
with  steady  nerve.  That  day  had  given  him 
sights  which  seared  the  mind.  He  was  ready 
to  drown,  though  if  the  canoe  swamped  he  felt 
he  might  mechanically  swim. 

From  the  general  direction  of  their  zigzag 
tossing  he  guessed  the  port  which  Wawatam 
hoped  to  reach.  But  no  talk  could  pass  be- 
tween the  two  men  except  at  the  top  of  their 
voices,  and  they  kept  silence. 


i8  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

Henry  knew  very  little  about  this  Chip- 
pewa  who  had  adopted  him  with  the  super- 
stitious selection  peculiar  to  the  Indian  na- 
ture. Wawatam  had  begun  a  year  before  to 
make  him  presents,  speeches,  and  lover-like 
visits.  Henry  had  responded,  amused  and 
touched,  giving  presents  in  return,  and  prac- 
tising his  store  of  Chippewa  words  with  a 
good  will.  He  felt  no  sacred  claim  upon 
the  Indian,  and  acknowledged  in  himself  no 
necessity  to  risk  life  in  such  a  service  as  this. 
The  character  of  the  silent  red  man  loomed 
before  him  a  colossal  manito,  of  unsuspected 
worth.  He  had  seen  the  brutal  side  of 
savage  nature ;  he  was  seeing  now  its  spir- 
itual side. 

The  trader  understood  that  Wawatam  had 
a  family,  and  he  thought  of  the  squaw  waiting 
in  anguish,  and  looking  from  her  lodge  at 
this  black  chaos.  They  had  been  out  so 
long  that  he  forgot  every  function  of  life  ex- 
cept an  automatic  balance  and  the  fight  with 
the  paddles,  when  he  began  to  take  notice  of 
a  roseate  star  in  the  north.  Lightning  blot- 
ted it,  but  in  darkness  it  burned  steadily,  and 
he  finally  saw  it  was  low  against  a  mass  of 
land. 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  19 

"  The  island  of  Mackinac?"  he  shouted  in 
Chippewa  at  Wawatam. 

"Yes;  the  Great  Turtle,"  shouted  back 
Wawatam. 

Henry  had  not  crossed  the  straits  since 
his  arrival  at  Fort  Michilimackinac,  and  the 
islands  were  unknown  worlds  to  him.  He 
was  the  pioneer  of  the  English  fur-trade,  and 
had  ventured  with  audacious  courage  to  the 
wooden  outpost  poorly  maintained  by  a  mere 
advance-guard  of  his  nation.  Received  coldly 
by  the  settled  French,  with  warnings  by  the 
soldiers,  and  sullenly  by  the  Indians,  he  had 
not  plunged  into  the  woods  at  all,  though 
their  spring  freshness  tempted  him,  and  the 
glare  on  the  sand  was  a  monotonous  sight, 
but  remained  about  the  fort,  guarding  his 
stores,  and  making  such  headway  as  he 
could  into  savage  friendship.  The  Great 
Turtle,  or  Mackinac,  Island,  was  about  five 
miles  distant  from  Fort  Michilimackinac 
across  the  strait.  On  clear  days,  in  the 
elastic  and  transparent  air  at  the  mouth  of 
the  lakes,  he  could  see  the  white  cliffs  of 
Mackinac  half  smothered  in  foliage.  He 
knew  the  Chippewas  venerated  it  with  super- 
stitious feeling.  They  gathered  there  for 


20  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

their  great  ceremonies.  It  was  sometimes 
thronged  with  lodges,  and  sometimes  left 
in  solitude.  A  colossal  manito  brooded  over 
the  place,  and  other  invisible  beings  worked 
spells  there.  Henry  smiled  in  the  darkness 
at  being  flung  for  safety,  through  flood  and 
storm,  upon  this  enchanted  land.  Wawatam 
was  attempting  as  well  as  he  could  to  put 
his  brother  in  barbarian  sanctuary. 

A  smaller  island  lying  south  of  the  Great 
Turtle  reached  out  for  them  with  a  long 
phosphorescent  arm.  Pale  green  and  dia- 
mond lights  flashed  from  this  sandy  bar  as 
the  water  rolled  over  it,  coruscating  and 
changing  through  countless  tones  of  color. 
Wawatam  steered  far  from  the  uncanny 
grappling-hook.  Henry  was  ignorant  of 
these  insular  coast-lines.  When,  therefore, 
after  long  darkness  the  dying  lightning  made 
its  revelations,  he  was  startled  by  the  near- 
ness of  the  shore.  It  stood  above  him.  The 
canoe  tossed  like  a  chip  at  the  base  of 
wooded  heights.  The  low-lying  star  which 
he  had  watched  emerged  from  the  windings 
of  their  course  a  conflagration.  They  no 
longer  needed  the  lightning.  A  fire  roared 
in  a  stone  fireplace  on  the  beach,  and  rose- 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  21 

colored  smoke  escaped  from  the  penthouse 
of  its  front.  Logs  of  some  size,  and  much 
small  fuel,  heaped  the  hearth.  Henry  could 
hear  through  the  hiss  of  water  a  crackling  of 
pine  and  cedar.  The  fireplace  was  in  a  shel- 
tered cove  partly  walled  around  by  rocks. 
On  the  beach  floor  and  in  front  of  the  glare 
two  figures  moved  about,  the  rain  scarcely 
veiling  them.  Henry  was  so  wet  that  he 
knew  his  fingers  were  shrunken  and  white 
around  the  paddles.  The  June  night  chill 
reached  his  bones.  The  fire,  like  a  home 
hearth  inviting  him  to  this  unknown  coast, 
appealed  with  a  power  that  his  flesh  instantly 
acknowledged.  But  the  tenders  of  it  so  sur- 
prised him  that  his  discomfort  was  forgotten 
in  straining  sight  at  them.  They  were  two 
white  children,  a  girl,  and  a  short,  grotesque 
boy.  The  girl  stood  well  within  the  shelter 
of  rocks,  and  directed  the  boy  in  his  laying 
of  the  wood.  Light  poured  upon  her,  now 
rising  so  that  Henry  could  even  note  the 
flush  of  her  cheek  and  the  lines  of  her  eye- 
brows, and  now  sinking  until  her  face  became 
a  rosy  blot  in  the  dimness.  She  appeared 
to  be  dressed  in  gray  gull-feathers  lying 
smoothly  downward,  untarnished  by  the  rain. 


22  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

This  plumage  gave  roundness  to  her  young 
shape.  Her  hair  hung  in  two  large  braids 
down  the  front  of  her  shoulders.  When  the 
boy  had  put  wood  on  the  fire,  he  resumed 
turning  a  leather  string  on  which  a  piece  of 
meat  hung  roasting.  The  string  was  fas- 
tened to  a  crosspiece  upheld  by  two  forks 
set  in  sand  and  stones.  At  a  corner  of  the 
hearth  a  bark  platter  of  fish  stood  ready, 
savory  incense  suggesting  itself  in  the  air 
above.  Henry  noted  all  these  things  with 
a  quick  glance  or  two ;  the  picture  of  the 
wilderness  kitchen  so  illuminated  filled  his 
mind  by  a  single  impression. 

Such  a  narrow  strip  of  beach  paved  it  that 
every  swell  of  the  lake  threatened  to  over- 
whelm the  fire.  Yet  the  high-riding  water 
always  broke  hissing  among  fragments  of 
rock  lying  scattered  at  the  edge — waste  stuff 
that  it  had  carved  out  in  past  ages  when  it 
made  the  fireplace.  Not  a  spatter  of  foam 
reached  the  girl  or  the  supper  she  was 
tending. 

She  and  her  companion  watched  the  outer 
darkness,  but,  dazzled  by  the  light  in  which 
they  stood,  they  were  blind  to  the  speck  rid- 
ing so  near  them.  Wawatam  knew  every 


FORT  MICHILIMACKINAC  23 

inch  of  the  Mackinac  coast ;  but  remember- 
ing all  they  had  dared  that  night,  Henry 
thought  he  was  absurdly  cautious  about  land- 
ing his  canoe.  He  held  it  out  in  the  weather, 
and  moved  on  eastward,  until  the  kitchen's 
shine  lay  behind  them,  a  heaving  bar  across 
the  water.  They  passed  a  turn  of  the  cliff, 
and  after  much  skilful  paddling  came  into  a 
softly  rounded  cove  which  could  scarcely  be 
called  a  bay,  but  which  sheltered  and  let 
them  easily  on  shore.  Henry  guessed  at 
these  things  by  the  massing  or  retreating  of 
glooms  above  him,  and  the  line  of  the  water. 
The  organ  breathing  of  evergreens  overhead 
convinced  him  that  pine  and  cedar  clothed 
these  heights  like  a  garment. 

To  feel  hard  pebbles  underfoot,  and  to 
grasp  a  rock  or  a  bough,  was  returning  to 
life  after  long  suspension  in  what  was  neither 
life  nor  death.  They  pulled  their  canoe  in, 
and  Henry  helped  Wawatam  conceal  it  and 
the  paddles  in  a  thicket  of  balsam  fir  which 
scratched  their  hands  with  its  wet  needles. 

Their  path  under  the  cliff  was  a  very  nar- 
row one.  Several  times  they  had  to  wade, 
and  the  lake  washed  their  legs  as  they 
hugged  the  wall.  Wawatam  led  the  way. 


24  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

He  grunted  cautious  words  to  Henry  when 
the  Englishman  fell  behind  in  crossing  a  pool 
or  lost  the  direction  among  rocks.  Again  they 
saw  the  shine  on  the  water,  and  felt  it  reaching 
to  them  through  chinks  of  the  trees.  Wawa- 
tam  suddenly  raised  his  voice  in  a  low,  pene- 
trating hoot.  He  held  the  trader  in  a  pause. 
A  similar  call  answered  him  from  the  kitchen. 

They  came  to  the  broadening  of  the  beach 
and  the  roaring  fireplace.  If  it  had  seemed 
cheerful  from  the  lake,  it  seemed  home's  own 
altar  now,  and  the  offerings  smoked  in  readi- 
ness for  two  hungry,  exhausted  men.  Henry 
looked  eagerly  around.  No  human  being 
was  there ;  not  a  rustle  came  from  the 
shadows.  He  felt  disappointed.  He  felt  even 
tricked  by  the  influences  of  the  island.  Two 
figures  had  certainly  passed  before  the  hearth. 
In  this  empty  place  he  had  traced  the  outlines 
of  a  girl's  eyebrows.  No  noise  of  climbing, 
no  crackle  of  broken  brush,  betrayed  a  re- 
treat. There  was  only  the  crackle  of  the  fire, 
and  to  that  he  was  obliged  to  give  himself, 
turning  himself  in  luxury  and  drying  his 
steaming  clothes. 

Wawatam  seemed  only  half  pleased  by 
what  the  vanished  islanders  had  done  for 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  25 

them.  He  took  his  knife  and  swiftly  cut 
small  pines,  piling  them  between  the  glowing 
fireplace  and  the  lake.  It  required  so  many 
to  make  a  screen  high  enough,  that  Henry 
was  quite  dry  when  Wawatam  finished  his 
task. 

Still  looking  waterward  with  misgivings, 
he  made  his  English  brother  sit  against  the 
pile,  hid  from  possible  voyagers,  while  they 
ate  their  supper. 

Before  Wawatam  sat  down  he  brought 
water  from  a  spring  near  by.  Listening, 
Henry  could  distinguish  its  gush  from  the 
falling  of  the  rain.  It  came  down  the  cliff,  as 
he  learned  for  himself  later,  but  at  that  time 
he  thought  its  small  noise  was  simply  an 
escape  into  the  lake.  The  water  and  the 
venison  and  fish  were  delicious  enchanted 
drink  and  food.  Henry  felt  his  blood  revived 
with  sudden  impetus  such  as  wine  gives.  It 
flew  through  his  arteries,  a  distinct  rapture. 
His  eyes  laughed,  and  the  long  taciturnity  of 
the  night  passed  away,  like  a  trance.  He 
wanted  to  raise  a  shout,  and  make  his  voice 
ring  against  the  cliff,  but  the  precautions  of 
Wawatam  were  a  warning  to  recklessness. 
So  he  only  talked  rapidly,  managing  the 


26  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

Chippewa  words  as  well  as  he  could,  but  ex- 
uberantly slipping  into  English  or  French 
where  expression  failed  him. 

Wawatam  listened,  and  answered  seriously, 
or  with  a  smile  slightly  loosening  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  He  was  glad  his  brother  was 
safe  and  full  of  spirits.  He  was  a  straight- 
featured  Indian,  spare  but  sinewy.  His  face, 
as  it  dried  in  the  firelight,  showed  a  clear- 
ness of  tint  and  a  benignity  unusual  in  his 
tribe.  The  draggling  rain  robbed  him  of  no 
dignified  effect  in  his  clothes.  He  was  well 
dressed  in  buckskins,  the  fringed  collar  open- 
ing and  showing  a  clean-cut  neck  finely  done 
in  human  bronze.  Exposure  to  sun  and 
weather  had  printed  small  radiating  lines  at 
the  corners  of  his  unshaded  eyes.  He  was 
very  little  older  than  Henry,  but  his  fore- 
fathers of  the  wilderness  had  left  their  somber 
and  aging  impress  on  him,  as  Saxon  and 
Norman  had  left  their  brighter  impress  on 
the  Englishman. 

"  My  brother  has  brought  me  to  a  good 
lodge." 

"  Best  not  stay  here  long,"  said  Wawatam. 

"  Have  you  some  hole  to  put  me  in  on  the 
island?" 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  27 

"A  good  hole/'  said  Wawatam. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  let  your  brother 
down  like  Joseph  into  some  pit  ?  " 

"Joseph  is  not  in  a  pit.  Joseph  stands  on 
the  altar,"  remarked  Wawatam,  whose  know- 
ledge of  Hebrew  history  was  bounded  by  the 
mission  church  at  L'Arbre  Croche. 

"I  did  n't  mean  the  saint.  But  I  shall  be 
safe  wherever  you  put  me." 

" There  is  no  pit,"  said  Wawatam,  "except 
the  rift;  and  that  is  not  a  pit.  It  is  where  the 
heart  of  the  island  broke." 

"  What  broke  its  heart  ?  " 

"  Once  the  manito  left  Mackinac :  that 
broke  the  island's  heart  ?  " 

"  Did  he  ever  come  back  ?  " 

"  Who  could  stay  away  ?  " 

"Is  your  lodge  on  the  island,  Wawatam ? " 

"  Yes." 

"You  are  never  afraid  of  the  spirits?" 

Wawatam  glanced  around  under  the  rims 
of  his  eyelashes.  He  did  not  answer,  but 
excused  the  light  inquiry  of  his  brother. 

The  young  Englishman  rested  against  his 
evergreen  cushion  and  looked  at  the  myste- 
rious cliffs.  He  was  open  to  beautiful  impres- 
sions. Strong  love  of  the  wilderness  had 


2S  THE  WHITE  ISLANDER 

brought  him  to  this  perilous  frontier.  Before 
penetrating  a  yard  into  the  island  he  felt  its 
influence  like  the  premonition  of  love.  It 
drew  him  and  claimed  him.  The  fire  gave 
him  a  flickering  sight  of  crumbly  limestone 
full  of  little  sockets  and  cleavages  filled  with 
moss.  Gnarly  pine-trees  hung  down,  dis- 
torted with  gripping  the  rock.  Wet  young 
ferns  breathed  somewhere  under  cover,  their 
shy  maid's  breath  being  brought  to  him  by 
the  dampness. 

"  Who  were  those  spirits  tending  the  fire 
before  we  landed  ?  "  inquired  Henry. 

Wawatam  relaxed  his  mouth-corners  more, 
and  answered :  "  They  were  no  spirits.  They 
were  part  of  my  family." 

"  But  seen  from  the  lake  they  looked  like  a 
white  boy  and  girl." 

"  Yes ;  they  are  white." 

"  How  did  you  get  a  white  family,  Wa- 
watam ?  " 

"  Not  all  my  family  are  white.  My  old 
grandmother  is  Chippewa." 

"  How  many  are  there  in  my  brother  Wa- 
watam's  family  ?  " 

"  Three :  my  old  grandmother  and  the  boy 
and  girl." 


FORT  MICHILIMACKINAC  29 

"  Was  their  mother  a  white  woman  ?  " 
"Yes;  both  their  mothers  were  white." 
"  Then  they  are  not  your  children  ?  " 
"  No ;  the  boy  is  my  adopted  son.     He  has 
but  one  eye.     The  girl  is  my  wife." 

Henry  had  a  sensation  of  discomfort  mar- 
ring his  perfect  physical  happiness.  As  he 
lowered  his  eyes  to  the  glowing  coals  he 
asked  himself  why  an  Indian  like  Wawatam 
should  not  have  a  white  wife  if  he  wanted 
one. 

"  Your  wife  ?  "  repeated  the  trader. 
"She  will  be  my  wife,"  corrected  Wawatam. 
"  She  lives  yet  in  the  lodge  with  my  grand- 
mother.    When  peace  comes  I  will  take  her 
in  my  canoe  to  the  priest  at  L'Arbre  Croche. 
No  time  for  marrying  now.     Too  much  war ; 
too  many  evil  birds  making  a  noise." 
"  Who  is  she,  Wawatam  ?  " 
"  She  is  a  girl  without  father  or  mother." 
"  I  understand,  then,  that  my  brother  has 
at  some  time  kept  her  from  being  killed  as  he 
has  just  kept  me  from  being  killed.     Is  she 
English  ?  " 

"No;   French." 

"  But  your  people  are  the  friends  of  the 
French." 


30  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  I  did  not  say  I  had  kept  her  from  being 
killed." 

"  And  is  the  boy  her  brother  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  is  English.  He  is  what  you  call 
an  idiot,"  said  Wawatam,  with  unconscious 
humor.  "  But  we  do  not  call  it  so."  Henry 
laughed. 

"The  English  at  Michilimackinac  certainly 
behaved  like  idiots  to-day  when  they  threw 
the  fortress  gates  open.  And  nearly  all  of  us 
have  died  the  death  of  idiots.  My  escape 
was  by  no  wisdom  of  mine." 

"  No  more  time  to  talk,"  said  Wawatam, 
rising.  "  You  must  hide." 

He  took  the  largest  firebrands  and  plunged 
them  into  the  lake.  The  logs  and  coals  he 
put  out  with  water  carried  in  the  gourd  which 
had  supplied  them  from  the  spring.  A  hiss- 
ing white  vapor  and  clouds  of  ashes  drove 
Henry  up  from  the  evergreens,  and  darkness 
grew  where  the  hospitable  hearth  had  shone. 

As  the  ashes  settled,  and  steam  ceased 
rising,  Wawatam  spoke  in  the  darkness  to 
his  adopted  brother. 

"  I  must  go  back  to  my  tribe,  to  the  feasts 
and  war-councils,  or  they  may  search  you  out 


FORT    MICHILIMACKINAC  31 

and  kill  you  yet.  They  think  I  am  only  half- 
hearted in  this  war.  The  French  girl  that  is 
to  be  my  wife  will  have  to  bring  you  food,  for 
there  is  no  one  else  on  the  island  but  my  old 
grandmother,  and  the  boy,  who  could  not  re- 
member." 

Henry  drew  in  his  breath  with  a  quick  im- 
pulse. But  he  waited  with  all  the  gravity 
which  this  hint  imposed.  After  a  few  minutes 
he  made  the  promise : 

"  She  shall  be  my  sister  as  Wawatam  is  my 
brother." 

The  Indian  on  his  side  kept  silence  in  the 
darkness.  When  he  spoke  he  said : 

"  I  will  trust  my  brother." 

He  began  the  march,  and  Henry  followed 
him.  They  took  the  same  way  along  the 
beach  by  which  they  had  come,  wading  pools 
and  walking  around  rocks.  The  rain  thinned, 
and  the  lightning  had  become  a  flicker  on  the 
horizon,  but  the  angry  lake  still  rolled  in  white 
ridges,  and  made  a  wide-spread  noise  of  its 
wash  on  the  shore.  When  they  came  to  the 
cove  where  the  canoe  lay  hidden,  Wawatam 
waited  and  listened.  Satisfied  by  sound  or 
lack  of  sound  which  could  not  be  detected 


32  THE   WHITE  ISLANDER 

by  his  white  brother,  he  then  made  rapid  pro- 
gress. The  ground  stooped  to  them ;  the 
wooded  heights  sloped  down  to  draw  a  lovely 
semi-circle,  rounding  the  froth  and  glitter  of 
waters.  Wawatam  did  not  follow  the  shore- 
line here,  but  struck  up  a  long  shoulder  of 
hill,  tracing  some  course  he  knew  well,  though 
the  pine  boughs  had  to  be  parted  out  of  their 
way.  Henry  trod  directly  behind  him.  A 
hint  of  morning  was  already  abroad,  in  that 
thinning  of  the  darkness  which  is  more  the 
wan  failure  of  night  than  the  decided  approach 
of  day.  Birds  were  inquiring  of  one  another 
in  their  unseen  retreats.  Uncanny  wings  went 
past  Henry's  face,  giving  him  a  shuddering 
start. 

"  Bats,"  observed  Wawatam. 

Moisture  in  the  evergreens  and  low,  broad- 
leaved  oaks  rained  upon  them ;  but  in  all  this 
indistinctness  and  blind  following  of  his  leader, 
Henry  felt  the  exhilaration  of  the  island.  The 
wet  was  a  sprinkling  of  balm.  Heavenly  in- 
cense from  thousands  of  primeval  censers  filled 
the  woods,  and  filled  his  spirit.  Two  or  three 
times  he  thought  he  heard  twigs  breaking  be- 
hind them,  and  told  Wawatam.  The  chief  lis- 
tened with  him  once,  and  moved  on  undisturbed. 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  33 

They  had  groped  over  many  levels,  through 
many  mazes  of  juniper  and  hemlock  and  acres 
of  thick-studded  trees,  when  Wawatam  as- 
cended a  little  mound  of  flinty  waste,  and 
stood  breasting  a  large  rock  covered  with 
tangle. 

"  Here  it  is." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  inquired  the  trader. 

-The  Skull  Rock." 

"  Do  we  stop  here  ?  " 

"  You  must  creep  in." 

He  pressed  his  hands  on  his  brother's 
shoulders,  and  made  Henry  stoop  to  the  low 
opening. 

"  Creep  in  as  far  as  you  can,"  said  Wa- 
watam. 

"Is  it  a  cave?" 

"  Yes." 

"A  large  one?" 

"  Not  very  large.     But  you  can  hide  there." 

"Will  my  brother  rest  in  this  cave,  too?" 

"No;  the  storm  is  past  now.  I  must  go 
back  to  Michilimackinac  before  the  sun  is  up. 
It  will  be  better  if  I  am  there  in  the  morn- 
ing. My  tribe  will  not  know  how  far  I  have 
brought  you." 

"  But  you  have  had  no  sleep  all  night." 


34  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  No  matter." 

"And  the  lake  is  still  covered  with  white- 
caps." 

"  The  paddling  will  be  easier  when  there  is 
some  light." 

"  How  soon  shall  I  see  my  brother  Wawa- 
tam  again  ?  " 

"  Not  soon,  unless  there  is  danger.  My 
brother  must  lie  quiet  and  wait  in  patience 
until  I  can  find  some  chance  to  send  him  to 
his  people." 

Henry  squeezed  the  Chippewa's  hand.  This 
was  no  farewell  for  Wawatam,  who  took  his 
white  brother  in  his  arms.  The  forest  breathed 
around  them,  and  bits  of  sky  above  the  trees 
were  translucent  with  rising  light. 

"  Bless  you,  old  fellow !  I  am  not  worth 
half  the  trouble  you  have  taken  for  me.  I 
hope  I  can  do  something  for  you  some  time, 
and  that  you  '11  never  regret  you  saved  my 
scalp." 

"  Good-by,  my  English  brother." 

"  Good-by,  my  Chippewa  brother." 

Henry  crawled  into  the  cave's  mouth.  The 
dank  odor  repelled  him,  and  he  turned  his 
head  back  to  ask  Wawatam,  who  yet  stooped 
watching  him : 


FORT   MICHILIMACKINAC  35 

"  No  snakes  in  here,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No ;  Skull  Rock  is  a  sacred  cave.  No 
snakes  on  the  island  except  two  kinds,  and 
they  have  no  poison." 

The  trader  crept  down  the  cavern's  slope. 
He  looked  back  once  more  to  see  the  red 
face  at  the  opening  of  the  rock ;  but  Wawa- 
tam's  moccasins  were  silently  moving  away 
on  their  journey  to  Michilimackinac. 

The  place  was  paved  with  uneven  frag- 
ments, which  rolled  under  Henry's  hand  as 
he  groped.  It  was  an  irregular  hollow,  turn- 
ing at  right  angles  in  the  rock,  and  when  he 
reached  the  turn  he  thrust  his  feet  backward 
into  the  further  mystery,  and  stretched  him- 
self out  with  his  face  to  the  opening.  He 
was  stiff  from  his  long  paddling,  and  faint 
from  living  such  a  day.  The  elixir  of  the 
island  no  longer  reached  him.  The  pres- 
ence and  restraint  of  a  stoic  like  Wawatam 
being  taken  away,  he  gave  himself  up  to 
weakness,  and  slept  like  a  dead  man,  un- 
moving  and  pale. 


PART   II 


THE    GHOST-FLOWER 

SING  again,  George." 
"  George  has  sung." 

"  I  say  sing  again." 

"All  good." 

George  sang  again,  if  a  nasal  droning 
broken  by  barks  and  bird-trillings  could  be 
called  singing.  The  singer  had  doubtless 
learned  his  music  in  the  school  of  the  Chip- 
pewas.  Henry  heard  it  in  the  cavern  under- 
neath, and  knew  what  figures  were  sitting  on 
the  top  of  the  rock  among  gnarled  pines  and 
tangled  growths. 

"  That  will  do,  George.  That  ought  to 
wake  the  Englishman  if  he  is  ever  going 
to  wake.  I  am  tired  of  sending  you  down 
to  look  at  him." 

"  Pretty     man     in     the     cave,"     observed 

George. 

36 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  37 

"  The  English  all  look  well  enough,  but 
they  are  a  bad  people.  I  do  not  like  them." 

"  Not  like  George?"  remonstrated  her 
companion,  with  a  whine.  "  George  all  Eng- 
lish boy." 

"  You  great  baby,  can  you  not  be  sure  I 
like  you  when  I  am  making  you  a  pair  of 
new  moccasins?  You  belong  to  the  island. 
But  the  English  —  they  are  quite  another 
sort ;  though  I  am  glad  I  learned  their  lan- 
guage in  the  convent,  since  you  can  never 
speak  French." 

The  sweet  contralto  voice,  using  his  mother- 
tongue  with  an  accentuation  which  he  had 
often  called  "  frog-eater's  brogue,"  and  using 
it  to  denounce  his  nation,  made  Henry  smile 
in  the  cave.  He  was  in  need  of  amusement. 
As  he  tried  to  move  himself  on  the  uneasy 
lumps  of  his  rock  mattress,  a  shudder  ran 
through  him.  Daylight  penetrated  far  enough 
into  the  cavern  to  show  him  that  he  was  ly- 
ing on  human  skulls.  Bald,  narrow  frontal 
bones  and  eyeless  sockets  stared  through  the 
drift  of  old  leaves.  Henry  crawled  over  these 
specter  faces  toward  the  entrance.  There  he 
found  a  roasted  bird  and  some  venison  on  a 
birch  dish. 


38  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

His  movement  was  heard  by  the  two  over- 
head, and  they  scrambled  off  the  rock.  The 
girl's  voice  hissed  a  low  warning.  "  Monsieur 
must  not  come  out  of  this  cave  until  he  is 
permitted." 

Henry  stopped,  and  the  boy,  tearing  through 
bushes,  appeared  in  front  of  him  as  a  guard. 
He  rolled  his  head  at  Henry,  and  enforced 
the  uttered  mandate  by  adding,  "All  good." 

The  look  of  eternal  infancy  on  his  idiot 
face  was  most  touching  by  daylight.  Stunted 
to  a  grotesque  broadness  and  knottiness  of 
figure,  he  moved  like  a  little  bear  on  its  hind 
feet,  and  his  dress  bore  out  the  resemblance. 
It  was  all  in  one  piece,  a  bifurcated  apron 
made  of  a  dark  blanket,  which  fastened  at 
the  back,  and  was  drawn  by  a  cord  around 
the  neck.  His  eyebrows  and  hair  were  of  a 
sandy  tint,  and  his  skin  maintained  a  raw 
pinkness.  His  single  eye  had  the  penetrating 
stare,  and  probably  the  microscopic  power,  of 
a  bird's. 

Henry  leaned  forward,  and  looked  around 
the  edge  of  the  cave  for  the  white  islander. 
She  stood  hidden  among  the  trees,  but 
promptly  repeated: 

"  Monsieur  must  not  come  out" 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  39 

"  But,  mademoiselle,  there  are  skulls  in  this 
rock." 

"They  are  nothing  but  the  heads  of  good 
Indians.  Does  monsieur  find  them  very  bald  ?" 

"  Quite  so,  mademoiselle." 

"  Monsieur's  skull  will  soon  be  as  bald  as 
they  are  if  he  ventures  out  before  it  is  safe. 
The  chief  commanded  that  he  should  lie 
still." 

"When  did  you  see  Wawatam?" 

"About  dawn  he  met  us  as  he  turned  back 
to  Michilimackinac." 

"  You  came  up  from  the  beach  behind  us, 
then?" 

"Yes,  monsieur.  Eat  your  supper  and  be 
quiet." 

"  My  supper?     Is  it  evening?" 

"  Nearly  evening.  The  light  yet  slants 
through  the  woods." 

"  Thank  you,  mademoiselle,  for  your  care 
of  me." 

"  It  is  nothing." 

"  But  I  heard  you  say  you  were  tired  of 
waiting  for  me  to  wake." 

"  Because  the  chief  said  you  must  be  told 
to  stay  in  the  cave.  George  and  I  have 
waited  since  noon  to  tell  you." 


40  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  I  will  obey  every  word  you  say,"  promised 
Henry.  "  May  I  add  to  the  trouble  I  am 
giving  you,  and  ask  for  some  water?" 

"  George  has  been  three  times  for  water, 
but  we  threw  it  out  as  it  grew  tepid.  Go 
again,  George,  and  fill  the  gourd,  and  bring 
it  quickly." 

"  Thank  you,  George,"  said  the  trader. 

"All  good,"  responded  George.  He  am- 
bled away,  in  what  direction  Henry  did  not 
notice.  Hungry  as  the  Englishman  was,  he 
did  not  begin  to  eat,  but  looked  at  his  hands 
and  weather-stained  clothes.  The  instincts 
of  civilization  were  stronger  in  him  because 
he  thought  the  white  islander  yet  stood  at 
the  cave  corner.  Her  appendage,  the  boy, 
was  long  on  his  errand.  Henry  could  hear 
the  rustling  noises  of  the  woods.  He  spoke 
again,  having  waited  in  vain  for  her  to  speak. 

"  Have  you  lived  on  this  island  a  great 
while,  mademoiselle?" 

She  did  not  answer.  Henry  looked  cau- 
tiously out,  though  he  knew  he  could  not  see 
her.  Having  given  her  message,  and  sent 
George  for  the  fresh  supply  of  water,  she  had 
gone  her  own  way.  When  George  at  length 
handed  in  the  gourd,  he  looked  uneasily 


WAWATAM. 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  43 

around  instead  of  at  the  man  who  took  it. 
He  struck  off  through  the  woods  as  true  as 
a  dog  on  the  trail,  and  Henry  ate  and  drank, 
hid  the  food  which  was  left,  and  crept  back 
among  the  bones.  He  thought  of  himself 
with  contempt,  skulking  in  a  hole  and  giving 
a  woman  the  care  and  labor  of  feeding  him. 
To  act  and  to  dare  were  natural  to  him,  rather 
than  to  burrow  and  to  wait. 

He  lay  a  long  time  thinking  what  he  could 
do  for  himself.  His  goods  were  confiscated. 
Supplies  which  were  on  the  way  from  Detroit 
to  him  would  probably  be  seized,  also,  and 
his  various  clerks  robbed  as  they  returned 
from  trading  in  the  interior.  There  was  lit- 
erally no  help  for  him  except  in  the  friendship 
of  Wawatam.  His  only  relative  in  America, 
Sir  William  Johnson,  was  too  far  away  to 
know  of  the  fort's  loss  soon,  except  by  guess- 
ing it  from  commotions  among  the  Indians 
eastward ;  and  his  friend,  Monsieur  Cadotte, 
at  Sault  Ste.  Marie,  might  be  unable  to  keep 
the  Lake  Superior  tribes  from  rising. 

Henry  regretted  dropping  Pani's  blanket 
in  the  attic.  When  he  dropped  it  he  expected 
to  leave  his  body  also.  There  had  been  no 
urgent  need  of  it  until  he  tried  to  make  a  bed 


44  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

in  the  cave.  He  had  slept  well  on  bones 
before  he  knew  they  were  there ;  but  as  dark- 
ness filled  the  woods,  and  pressed  their  com- 
pany on  him,  the  pulses  of  his  body  made 
them  creep  and  palpitate  under  him.  Yet  he 
forced  himself  to  lie  still  in  the  unendurable 
place,  until  a  human  shape  darkened  the  en- 
trance, whispering  to  him. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  inquired  the  startled 
Englishman. 

"  Come  with  us  instantly,  monsieur,  and  be 
as  silent  as  you  can." 

Glad  that  it  was  necessary  to  change  his 
place  of  concealment,  he  obeyed.  His  moving 
hand  touched  the  remnants  of  his  supper. 

"  Shall  I  bring  the  gourd  and  dish  with 
me?  They  may  be  found  here." 

"  Bring  them?  Yes.  George  will  hide  them." 

Putting  the  things  past  herself,  the  French 
girl  drew  Henry  by  the  arm.  He  stood  up 
outside  the  cave,  stretching  the  cramp  from 
his  joints.  The  bushes  were  shaking  where 
George  disappeared.  It  was  not  a  dark  night 
like  the  stormy  one  which  followed  the  mas- 
sacre, but  a  white  one,  lacing  the  ground 
with  every  little  twig.  The  moon  in  her  first 
quarter  already  rode  high.  This  dense  island 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  45 

forest  was  a  world  of  magic.  Henry  felt  its 
spell  as  he  followed  between  walls  of  foliage. 
There  must  have  been  a  path,  but  to  him  it 
was  a  submerged  struggle  through  leaves. 
His  guide  parted  the  way  easily,  as  a  fish 
goes ;  a  shorter  and  broader  body  had  passed 
through  before  her.  The  trader  did  not  know 
who  might  be  following  behind.  He  reveled 
in  this  swimming  of  the  wilderness.  He  had 
capacities  for  woodcraft.  It  gave  freedom  to 
a  repressed  and  manly  part  of  him,  and  in 
the  darkness  of  the  buried  path  he  breathed 
largely.  Sweet  pine,  bruised  by  hurried 
treading,  gave  out  a  tea-like  fragrance.  The 
rank,  loamy  breath  of  moss,  that  night  prayer 
of  wooded  lands,  made  itself  stronger  than 
any  sensation  of  danger.  Sometimes  through 
a  break  in  the  foliage  he  could  see  spacious 
chambers  of  the  woods  hung  with  hemlock 
tapestry,  to  which  the  moon  wedged  an  en- 
trance. A  man  must  cut  his  way  to  such  a 
spot,  and  Henry  thought  one  of  them  might 
be  his  destination.  But  the  French  girl  led 
him  out  of  the  tangle,  and  he  saw  through  a 
great  arch  of  stone  the  clear  surface  of  the 
lake.  It  startled  his  pulses  to  come  out  of 
the  New  World's  heart  facing  this  old  ruin,  the 


46  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

water-carven  mimicry  of  a  gigantic  castle 
gate. 

His  leader  took  him  again  by  the  wrist, 
and  drew  him  away  from  the  stone  arch  and 
down  into  the  growths  on  the  cliff.  A  path 
descended  toward  the  lake,  so  narrow  that 
one  person  had  barely  foot-room,  but  partly 
hedged  by  trees  and  bushes  along  its  outer 
edge.  To  miss  footing  here  was  to  tumble 
into  unmeasured  depths.  Henry  followed, 
steadying  himself  by  a  hand  on  trees,  or  by 
clutching  roots  and  the  stone  ribs  of  the 
island.  This  thread  of  a  path  went  down  to 
a  slab  of  rock  which  glaciers  had  cut  out  and 
canopied  for  a  seat.  George  was  already 
resting  in  a  corner  of  the  niche  in  the  bluff 
side,  and  the  other  two  sat  down  beside  him, 
and  waited  in  silence  for  what  was  to  happen. 
The  girl  leaned  forward,  watching  the  path. 

The  lake's  irregular  rush  upon  its  beach 
could  be  heard  below,  and  a  thousand  cries 
of  little  living  things  which  make  populous 
the  wilderness  sounded  far  and  near.  No 
crackle  or  stealthy  swish  of  steps  overhead 
could  be  detected. 

Henry  contrasted  the  figure  at  his  left  hand 
and  the  English  boy  at  his  right,  the  high  in- 
telligence and  the  gentle  brute,  dependent 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  47 

on  each  other  for  companionship.  It  was  a 
satisfaction  to  sit  beside  the  woman.  She 
whom  he  was  to  let  alone  had  unusual  influ- 
ence upon  him.  None  of  the  rawness  of  girl- 
hood appeared  in  her  face.  She  was  his 
mother  for  the  time,  taking  care  of  him.  The 
trader  noticed  her  dress.  It  was  not  the 
plumage  which  he  thought  he  had  seen  in 
the  beach  kitchen,  but  a  garment  of  dark- 
brown  wool,  made  of  a  blanket,  like  George's 
pinafore.  A  cap  of  birch  bark,  having  a  ro- 
sette of  curly  fibers,  was  tied  over  her  hair. 

The  twig  and  leaf  tracery  in  front  of  them 
was  as  black  as  ebony  against  the  silver  air 
above  the  lake.  All  the  world  glistened  with 
dew,  though  their  shelter  was  dry.  There 
was  a  rift  in  the  trees  towering  up  from  the 
beach  through  which  they  could  see  the 
moon's  track  on  the  water,  spread  broadly 
with  cloth  of  gold. 

"Is  that  your  brudder?"  George  inquired, 
leaning  forward,  and  touching  the  French 
girl  to  make  her  look  at  him.  He  turned  his 
thumb  back  at  Henry. 

"Yes,"  answered  Henry;  "lam  her  bro- 
ther. I  promised  Wawatam  to  treat  her 
as  my  sister." 

"All  good,"  said  George. 


48  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

"What  is  her  name,  George?" 

"  My  name  is  Marie  Paul/'  she  herself  an- 
swered, relaxing  from  her  vigilance  over  the 
path.  She  looked  at  the  Englishman.  He 
was  distinct  enough  in  that  filtered  light,  and 
she  thought  him  the  best-made  man  she  had 
ever  seen. 

"  George  and  I  saw  a  strange  canoe  in  the 
bay,"  she  explained,  guarding  the  pitch  of  her 
voice. 

"  Perhaps  Wawatam  has  come  back,"  said 
Henry. 

"  We  know  his  canoe." 

"  Did  you  see  who  was  in  it?  " 

"There  was  one  person  paddling,  but  it 
was  not  Wawatam." 

"  I  might  have  taken  my  chances  with  one 
Indian." 

"  Not  while  you  slept.  The  Skull  Rock 
may  be  known  to  all  the  Chippewas ;  but  this 
place  is  known  only  to  George  and  me.  We 
made  the  path  to  it." 

Henry's  heart  swelled  because  she  had 
brought  him  to  a  place  known  only  to  George 
and  her. 

"Then  even  Wawatam  knows  nothing 
about  this  cave  ?  " 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  49 

"No,"  said  Marie. 

"  Why  did  you  go  to  the  bay  in  the  night?" 

"To  watch  it." 

"  But  you  were  up  watching  last  night." 

"  One  does  n't  mind  that  here  on  the 
island." 

"  Have  you  lived  on  the  island  long?" 

"  It  is  two  years,"  answered  Marie  ;  "  for  I 
was  past  fifteen  the  first  time  I  confessed  to 
the  priest  at  L'Arbre  Croche." 

"Was  the  priest  at  L'Arbre  Croche  willing 
for  you  to  live  here  among  Chippewas?  Why 
does  n't  he  send  you  back  to  your  own 
people?" 

"  How  can  he,  monsieur,  when  my  family 
are  all  dead  ?  " 

"Then  you  have  no  relatives?" 

"  Nobody  but  the  old  Indian  woman  that  I 
call  grandmother." 

The  French  predilection  for  Indians  made 
Henry  smile.  "Would  n't  you  rather  live 
among  whites  ?  " 

"  Monsieur,  I  could  not  live  away  from 
this  island.  When  you  have  been  here  awhile 
you  will  understand.  It  bewitches  you.  There 
can  be  no  place  like  it.  The  chief  took  us 
one  winter  to  St.  Ignace,  because  there  was 


50  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

once  the  missionary  village,  and  we  could  be 
warmer.  I  watched  the  island  by  night  and 
day  across  the  ice.  Its  white  breast  was  my 
mother's  breast.  In  the  spring  I  was  thin, 
and  my  eyes  were  hollow  with  longing  for  it. 
You  cannot  live  away  from  the  island,  mon- 
sieur, when  it  has  once  taken  hold  of  you." 

"  You  are  happy  ?  " 

"  Everything  is  happy.  What  is  there  to 
make  one  miserable?  George  and  I  have 
found  the  place  for  your  lodge,  monsieur." 

"  I  can  stay  here,"  said  Henry. 

"No,  monsieur;  this  will  not  do:  you  must 
have  a  lookout  as  well  as  a  hiding-place. 
To-morrow,  if  that  canoe  is  gone,  the  grand- 
mother will  give  us  mats,  and  you  shall  come 
and  help  us  build  it." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to,"  said  Henry.  His 
large  eyes  were  watching  her  with  interest. 

"  You  are  not  like  the  other  English  I  have 
seen,"  observed  Marie.  "You  have  gentle 
manners.  It  is  beautiful  in  a  man  to  be 
gentle  and  obedient." 

"The  English  do  not  generally  obey  the 
French,"  said  Henry,  smiling. 

"  No ;  they  love  to  drive  us,  to  seize  what 
is  ours.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  is  why  the 


THE    GHOST-FLOWER  51 

English  have  just  been  killed  at  Fort  Michili- 
mackinac." 

"Who  was  there  on  the  island  to  say 
that?" 

"  It  was  the  Chippewa  grandmother." 

"  I  will  not  drive  the  French,  nor  seize 
what  is  theirs,"  promised  Henry. 

She  laughed,  showing  white  teeth.  The 
trader  wondered  how  a  girl  nurtured  by  the 
Chippewa  grandmother  could  keep  an  ex- 
quisite person. 

"  You  must  stay  here  the  rest  of  the  night, 
and  until  we  come  for  you." 

"  I  will." 

George  was  asleep  in  his  corner,  and  as 
Marie  passed  in  front  to  wake  him,  the  trader 
turned  himself  to  the  same  task. 

"  You  must  be  very  careful;  he  might  make 
a  noise." 

In  her  anxiety  she  barred  Henry  back. 
The  touch  of  her  firm,  healthy  hand  tingled 
through  him. 

"All  good,"  said  George,  when  stood  upon 
his  feet  and  warned  to  be  quiet.  He  took 
hold  of  Marie's  wool  frock  for  the  ascent. 

Henry  also  stood,  and  drew  aside  some 
bushes  which  were  in  their  way.  His  other 


52  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

hand  went  out  solicitous  to  help  her,  but 
was  withdrawn  with  a  self-restraint  which  she 
keenly  admired. 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  let  me  go  up  to  the 
top  of  the  cliff  with  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  stay  here.  It  is  after  midnight. 
Good  morning,  monsieur." 

"  Good  morning,  mademoiselle." 

SUNRISE  brought  a  perfect  day.  So  trans- 
parent was  the  dazzling  air  that  from  the  bay 
one  could  see  distinctly  strips  of  meadow  and 
woods  and  the  white  French  houses  on  the 
mainland,  and  bars  of  sand  edging  the  water 
there.  A  narrow  pink  cloud  floating  in  that 
part  of  the  sky  made  the  lake  blush  in  a  long 
line  under  it.  On  the  high  ridge  of  the  island 
were  open,  sun-flecked  woods,  inhabited  by 
white  birches  with  broad,  gray  girdles  around 
their  waists ;  and  scattered  around  their  feet 
lay  the  parchments  they  had  dropped.  Henry 
climbed  these  slopes  as  wilfully  as  a  truant, 
Marie  guarding  his  horizon,  and  George 
traveling  sturdily  at  his  heels.  They  had  two 
loads  of  mats  to  carry  to  his  lodge  site,  as 
well  as  his  provisions.  These  goods  waited 
under  the  bushes  while  they  all  loitered.  The 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  53 

suspension  of  peril  causes  a  greater  rebound 
than  its  removal. 

Great  blossoms  of  pink  and  yellow  fungus 
spotted  the  ground.  Their  fleshy  beauty  was 
dry  to  the  hand,  and,  broken,  they  showed 
sound  hearts.  Daisies  and  blush-colored  bell- 
shaped  flowers  were  thick  in  grassy  stretches; 
and  the  maples  were  uncrumpling  their  very 
last  web  leaves  of  unripened  red.  The  ever- 
greens were  full  of  small  brown-crimson  cones 
like  luxuriant  bloom,  and  perfect  top  tassels 
snapped  thumb  and  finger  at  the  sky.  In 
the  open  woods  ancient  beds  of  leaves  had 
been  beaten  down  to  mold,  forming  a  neutral- 
tinted  background  on  which  delicate  etchings 
of  foliage  were  traced  by  the  sun.  Henry 
looked  around  this  lucent  green  world,  feel- 
ing that  he  could  never  forget  it — its  trans- 
parent shadows,  the  scattered  light  upon  the 
ground.  They  followed  a  deer-path  up  the 
ridge,  which  Marie  said  was  the  usual  trail  to 
the  lodges. 

"  Because  the  strange  canoe  is  gone,  we 
must  not  think  there  is  no  danger  at  all,"  she 
repeated. 

Henry  smiled  at  care  for  his  life,  or  his 
goods,  or  his  future.  The  present  was  to 


54  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

him  the  prime  moment  of  existence.  All  his 
days  had  led  up  to  this  one,  the  beginning  of 
some  golden  period  unknown  to  men  who 
lived  in  anxiety  and  toil. 

"The  island  has  bewitched  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  knew  it  would,"  she  answered,  looking 
him  through  with  clear  gray  eyes,  glad  that 
he  was  made  to  own  its  influence.  She  was 
always  handling  the  material  of  life  with  joy 
and  wonder. 

A  distant  gleam  in  the  woods,  unseen  by 
any  one  else,  startled  her  from  the  path.  She 
ran  over  the  quaking  and  rustling  forest  pave- 
ment, and  dropped  upon  her  knees. 

"Ghost-flower,"  observed  George,  halting, 
and  he  brought  his  face  about  for  the  con- 
centration of  his  eye  on  the  distant  object. 
He  followed  her,  tumbling  at  full  length  once, 
and  striking  the  leaf-dust  from  himself  when 
he  arose. 

Marie  beckoned  to  the  new  inhabitant  of 
the  island.  She  was  sure  there  could  be  no 
rapture  like  the  first  finding  of  Indian-pipes. 
Her  breath  paused  on  her  lips  as  she  pushed 
dead  leaves  aside  and  showed  the  bunch. 
Their  glistening  white  stems,  on  which  the 
lucent  scales  were  as  delicate  as  gauze,  stood 


THE  GHOST-FLOWER  55 

in  a  family  perhaps  fifty  strong,  closely  and 
affectionately  holding  their  waxen  heads  to- 
gether. Through  some  of  them  flushed  a 
faint  pink,  but  the  majority  palpitated  with 
a  spirit  of  lustrous  whiteness  in  every  part, 
strangely  purified  from  color. 

"Look  at  them,"  said  Marie,  impressively. 
"They  are  my  own  flower." 

Henry  knelt  down  and  looked  at  them. 
He  looked  also  at  her  face  in  its  birch  cap, 
her  wide  brows,  the  rounded  chin  and  beau- 
tiful throat,  and  the  braids  hanging  down 
over  the  swell  of  her  young  breasts.  She 
lifted  her  eyelids,  and  shared  the  great  plea- 
sure of  the  Indian-pipes  with  him. 

"You  may  take  these.  But  as  soon  as 
you  touch  them  they  will  begin  to  change. 
Does  n't  it  seem  impossible  they  can  turn 
black?" 

"  Do  they  turn  black  ?  " 

"  Quite  black,  if  they  are  handled.  But  left 
in  the  woods,  they  go  away  like  spirits." 

Henry  did  not  touch  them.  If  he  had  not 
been  there,  she  would  have  sat  a  long  time 
by  the  ghost-flowers,  watching  the  glistening 
wonder  of  their  open  cups.  She  broke  off  a 
handful  of  them,  and  gave  them  to  him  as 


56  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

a  queen  confers  an  order.  The  trader  said 
within  himself  that  he  did  n't  know  what  to 
do  with  the  things,  but  he  readily  cumbered 
one  hand  with  them.  Marie  then  took  some 
for  herself,  and  looked  George  over  to  see  if 
he  were  fit  to  hold  any.  The  poor  fellow 
began  to  settle  in  his  clothes,  and  to  seek  the 
pockets  which  a  white  boy  has  a  right  to  find 
in  his  trousers,  but  which  Marie  would  not 
sew  into  his  since  he  tore  them  out  with 
agates  and  quartz.  She  had  herself  tied  his 
drawing-string,  but  her  practised  eye  caught 
his  neglected  points,  and  she  put  the  flowers 
behind  her. 

"  George  will  have  to  go  to  the  lake  and 
wash  before  he  can  have  some.  We  must  all 
turn  back  before  it  grows  any  later.  Mon- 
sieur's lodge  is  to  build.  Monsieur,"  inquired 
Marie,  "  what  are  you  called?" 

The  trader  answered  that  his  name  was 
Alexander  Henry.  She  heard  it  without  ap- 
proval. 

"That  may  do  for  Fort  Michilimackinac, 
and  other  parts  of  the  world,  but  here  you  are 
Felix  and  Amedee.  In  the  morning  you  will 
be  Felix,  and  in  the  afternoon  you  will  be 
Amedee." 


THE    GHOST-FLOWER  57 

The  Englishman  accepted  this  French 
christening  with  a  flush  of  satisfaction.  "  Why 
not  Amedee  in  the  morning,  and  Felix  in  the 
afternoon  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,  except  that  it  is  the  other 
way." 

They  moved  back  through  the  light  woods 
over  delicate  traceries  of  foliage  shadow,  and 
scrambled  down  a  steep  part  of  the  ridge, 
holding  by  mossy  hummocks  to  keep  from 
falling,  and  came  to  the  bushes  where  the 
mats  were  concealed.  Henry  and  George 
took  the  loads,  and  Marie  led  on  the  path 
she  wished  them  to  follow.  There  was  no 
marked  footway,  but  a  parting  of  the  forest 
led  them  into  a  large  open  space  from  which 
could  be  seen  the  high  plateau  of  the  island. 
Morning  lodge-smoke  ascended  in  blue,  ex- 
panding streamers  from  Wawatam's  hidden 
camp.  Marie  knew  the  old  grandmother  was 
trotting  about  those  upper  woods,  engaged  in 
the  slave  work  of  an  Indian  woman. 

Pale-green  juniper  spread  its  ropy  branches 
on  the  ground  in  every  direction,  but  she 
piloted  her  stumbling  carriers  through  the 
thinner  snares.  Then  they  entered  once 
more  that  world  of  pines  and  cedars  which 


58  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

guarded  the  coast,  and  were  long  making 
their  way  among  boughs,  though  the  ground 
here  was  as  smooth  and  clean  as  hard  clay  to 
the  foot.  Everlasting  twilight  checked  the 
little  growths  of  the  woods,  and  pine-needles 
made  an  aromatic  soil  of  their  own. 

Henry's  blond  face  was  flushed  with  the 
tramp  and  portage  when  he  pushed  through 
a  tangle  of  vines  and  young  oaks  to  where 
Marie  finally  waited.  George  ambled  close 
behind,  enjoying  the  world  and  his  usual  oc- 
cupation. It  was  nothing  for  George  to 
tramp  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  island, 
only  to  fish  or  find  agates  at  certain  points. 
His  one  eye  saw  the  happy  side  of  life.  Had 
he  watched  the  massacre  at  Michilimackinac, 
it  must  have  typified  to  him  some  bliss  be- 
stowed on  the  victims.  He  would  have  said, 
"All  good." 

1  'This  is  the  place,  is  it  not,  George?" 
asked  Marie. 

They  looked  down  into  an  amphitheater 
padded  with  moss  and  curtained  from  the  lake 
by  bushes.  It  was  really  one  amphitheater 
over  another,  irregularly  broken  with  cush- 
ioned ledges  and  hidden  rocks.  Little  trees 
were  massed  together  around  it.  A  smell  of 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  59 

loam  as  sweet  as  roses  came  up  from  the 
place.  George  focused  his  eye,  and  nodded. 

"I  was  sure  of  it,"  said  Marie,  " though  we 
never  came  through  the  woods  before.  Our 
canoe  is  hid  on  the  beach  down  there.  You 
cannot  see  this  cove  from  the  beach.  It  is 
surprising  that  we  ever  parted  the  bushes 
and  found  it.  I  see  the  rock  for  your  table, 
and  the  tree  for  your  tent-pole." 

This  world  of  velvet  greenness  was  different 
from  anything  Henry  had  seen.  It  was  a 
cascade  of  moss  forever  in  the  act  of  falling 
down  a  mountain-side.  The  distant  horizon 
could  be  traced,  bounding  the  lake.  Far  off 
the  blue  water  shaded  to  grass-green  stripes 
betwixt  zones  of  purple.  He  had  a  speech- 
less feeling  that  he  was  in  the  hand  of  some 
mighty  spirit  that  changed  Nature  and  him 
from  moment  to  moment. 

"Where  are  we?"  he  inquired. 

"On  the  eastern  side  of  the  island,  beyond 
that  arch  of  stone  that  you  saw  in  the  night." 

"Then  we  cannot  see  the  mainland  from 
here?" 

"No;  but  you  can  watch  the  strait." 

They  let  themselves  from  rock  to  rock  into 
the  lower  amphitheater,  and  laid  down  their 


60  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

loads.  George  and  Henry  cut  poles.  They 
varied  his  dwelling  little  from  the  common 
Chippewa  lodge  of  conical  shape,  with  rain- 
proof mats  bound  about  it  for  shingles.  The 
forenoon  was  spent  when  it  was  done,  and  its 
door-flap  curled  back,  showing  the  snug  in- 
terior. Marie  had  it  closed  around  the  top 
because  its  occupant  would  dare  build  no  fire 
within.  He  did  not  know  how  far  she 
searched  for  arm-loads  of  sweet  pine  to  make 
him  a  mattress.  They  all  worked  at  overlap- 
ping and  fastening  the  mats.  The  flat  rock 
she  called  his  table  stood  near  his  tent  en- 
trance. Marie  lifted  from  the  cove  side  a 
fleece  of  branched  moss  which  nearly  covered 
her,  and  spread  it  over  his  table.  Dry, 
fragrant  bits  stuck  to  her  wool  gown.  Her 
eyes  were  happy.  She  had  never  felt  before 
in  such  harmony  with  all  things.  You  could 
scarcely  hear  the  water  lap  the  beach.  There 
was  no  intrusion  of  sound  as  it  rippled. 

But  a  pair  of  eyes  which  were  not  happy 
came  stealthily  to  a  rocky  buttress,  where 
they  could  watch  as  from  an  upper  window 
the  beautiful  court  below.  Their  dark  and 
piteous  brooding  lasted  out  the  afternoon. 

Many  of  the    Indian-pipes   had   come   to 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  61 

camp  headless,  the  slim  decapitated  necks  re- 
proaching their  bearers.  Marie  brought  wet 
sand  from  the  lake,  and  made  a  mound  for 
the  surviving  ones  to  stand  in  beside  the  head 
of  Henry's  green  couch.  She  took  George 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  washed  his  reluctant 
face  and  hands.  He  whined;  the  fervor  of 
her  lodge-building  had  given  him  reason  to 
hope  she  would  forget  his  face  and  hands  all 
day,  and  perhaps  until  the  hour  of  driving 
him  to  that  hated  spot  where  she  made  him 
bathe. 

"Now  dry  yourself  in  the  sun,"  said  Marie. 

"  Poor  George  ! "  complained  the  English 
boy.  "Why  brudder  not  wash  too?  " 

"He  is  older  than  you,"  explained  Marie. 
"  He  knows  when  to  wash  without  being 
told." 

"  Poor  George  !     Water  so  cold." 

His  closed  eyelid  had  always  a  touching 
expression  of  trying  to  help  his  single  eye 
plead  with  any  persecutor,  and  Marie  stroked 
him  tenderly,  picking  bark  and  moss  branches 
off  his  clothes. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to  fill  the  gourd,"  she 
promised,  and  all  his  distressed  creases  in- 
stantly reversed  themselves. 


62  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

Henry  came  out  with  the  gourd.  The 
beach  was  made  of  round  stones,  which  rolled 
under  the  foot,  and  turned  walking  into  a  toil 
if  not  a  danger.  The  high  sun  beat  upon 
Marie's  cap,  and  her  hair  clung  to  her  moist 
forehead,  but  she  drove  the  Englishman  back. 

"  Monsieur  Amedee,  you  must  not  come 
out  here." 

"There  is  n't  a  canoe  on  the  lake  any- 
where. No  one  can  see  me." 

"  I  won't  permit  you  to  come  out,  Monsieur 
Amedee." 

"She  queen,"  said  George,  turning  his 
thumb  back  at  Marie.  "  Brudder  better  mind 
her;  George  does.  Chief  does,  too." 

Henry  laughed,  not  at  the  undisputed  auto- 
crat, but  at  his  own  squawhood.  His  pliancy 
to  her  wishes  was  what  most  pleased  Marie 
in  the  task  she  had  undertaken.  The  tall 
leaning  saplings  laced  themselves  undisturbed 
betwixt  him  and  the  outer  world.  At  first  he 
sat  down  in  the  abundant  moss,  wishing  for  a 
good  pipe  of  Indian  tobacco ;  and  then  he 
thought  of  opening  his  provisions  and  spread- 
ing out  the  dinner.  The  earth  was  silent, 
for  here  he  missed  even  the  chirping  of 
insects.  It  seemed  so  still  one  could  hear  a 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  63 

pine-needle  fall;  so  still  the  soul's  motion 
could  be  heard.  The  sweet,  elastic  air  of  the 
island  filled  him  with  vigor.  He  wondered 
that  this  waste  of  his  vigor  in  a  hidden  de- 
pression of  the  cliff  did  not  annoy  him  more. 
Henry  was  on  one  knee  arraying  the  vivid 
green  tablecloth  with  his  bark  dishes,  when  a 
gathering  rustle  of  the  lake  startled  him.  It 
was  a  hiss  and  a  rush  like  the  disturbance 
made  by  many  canoes,  though  without  the 
dip  of  paddles.  He  parted  the  bushes,  and 
looked  anxiously  out.  Often  from  Fort 
Michilimackinac  he  had  seen  white  butterfly- 
wings  of  sails  blowing  across  the  water  or 
making  broken  glimmers  far  off;  but  now  not 
a  thing  could  be  discovered  on  the  strait. 
The  round  island  opposite,  wooded  to  its 
edge  except  that  spit  of  sand  which  stretched 
a  grappling-hook  westward,  was  by  all  tokens 
a  deserted  place.  There  was  no  perceptible 
change  or  increase  of  wind.  Henry  noticed, 
however,  a  roller  forming  in  mid-channel, 
and  sweeping  as  though  tipped  toward  him. 
It  broke  hissing  on  the  pebbles,  and  the  little 
disturbance  was  over.  Once  more  the  lake 
was  a  sapphire  pavement  scarcely  crinkled 
with  iridescent  spots.  This  commotion  was 


64  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

merely  its  trick  in  the  straits,  beginning  and 
ending  without  apparent  cause. 

When  Henry  had  set  the  table,  he  climbed 
the  broad  track  carpeted  with  ferns,  which  led 
up  the  amphitheater.  Half-way  up  were 
three  trees  sheltering  a  natural  chair  of  rock, 
amply  carved,  and  high  backed.  He  carried 
much  dry,  vivid-colored  moss,  and  padded  it, 
the  drapery  overflowing  to  a  foot-rest  below. 
Cups  and  little  trees  and  branching  tendrils 
of  the  moss  were  wonders  of  beauty.  Henry 
enjoyed  them  as  a  barbaric  embroidery  which 
he  could  heap  on  Marie's  chair.  The  rocky 
balcony  was  directly  over  him,  and  jealous 
eyes  watched  this  preparation ;  watched  his 
neglected  golden  beard  and  mustache  and 
clustering  hair,  and  the  solicitude  and  sensi- 
tive motions  of  his  fingers.  Dirty  buckskin 
would  not  have  spoiled  the  Englishman's 
supple  presence.  His  dress  was  substantial 
and  rich,  and,  in  spite  of  hard  usage  during 
his  escape  and  hiding,  it  remained  the  dress 
of  a  gentleman. 

Marie  and  George  came  to  the  broad,  thin 
layer  of  waterfall  which  they  sought;  which 
ran  first  over  a  bed  of  moss,  then  threaded 
downward  in  inch-wide  channels,  dripped 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  65 

from  rocky  shelves  upon  a  terrace,  and  found 
ways  between  rifted  rocks  to  the  lake.  Dense 
woods  stood  above  it.  And  here  a  sucking 
and  gurgling  of  the  water  through  pot-holes 
made  Marie  lift  her  hand  and  George  wrinkle 
himself  in  apprehension.  They  both  knew 
what  this  jerky  and  fantastic  booming  was; 
but  she  loved  the  superstition,  and  the  boy 
frightened  himself  with  it. 

"  Giant  fairies !  "  whispered  George. 

"Yes;  they'll  catch  us,"  said  Marie,  and 
he  bellowed  as  she  seized  him  to  run. 

Tribute  being  thus  paid  to  the  giant  fairies, 
George  straightway  forgot  them,  pulled  off 
his  moccasins,  and  rolled  up  his  trousers,  to 
wade  up  the  steep  to  the  clear  tap  which  he 
knew  Marie  preferred. 

She  held  the  brimming  gourd  while  he 
sought  a  flat  stone  for  a  seat.  One  mocca- 
sin was  tied  when  her  outcry  of  discovery 
brought  him  erect. 

"  O  George,  you  are  almost  sitting  on 
gull's  eggs." 

Three  pale-green  eggs,  spotted  with  brown, 
lay  on  the  open  beach.  They  both  stooped 
down  and  handled  the  pretty  things,  holding 
them  up  to  the  sun. 


66  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

"We  will  roast  them,"  decided  Marie, 
balancing  the  gourd.  "Take  this,  George. 
It  is  I  who  will  carry  the  eggs." 

She  packed  them  with  leaves  in  the  pouch 
hanging  from  her  girdle,  a  brilliant  piece  of 
embroidery  done  in  pink  and  yellow  quills 
by  the  grandmother. 

Henry  heard  the  voices  of  his  camp-makers 
approaching,  and  the  crush  of  revolving  peb- 
bles, and  the  girl's  scream.  She  was  sup- 
porting herself  on  her  hands  when  he  ran 
to  her,  and  George  stood  fixed,  holding  the 
gourd  in  a  trustworthy  grip.  The  boy  was 
trying  to  see  what  distress  on  the  lake  made 
Marie  weep,  and  drive  to  the  canoe  that  very 
Englishman  she  had  been  so  anxious  to  keep 
under  cover.  The  Englishman  found  the  boat, 
and  flung  it  unhelped  across  the  beach.  A 
fish-hawk  was  dragging  a  robin  through  the 
water  to  drown  it.  Marie  had  seen  the  hawk 
drop  like  a  stone  with  its  prey,  and  she  stum- 
bled as  she  ran  for  the  canoe.  The  fish-hawk, 
beaten  off  by  the  paddle,  left  the  red-breasted 
bird,  and  soared  away,  indignant  at  killing 
prey  for  big  unfeathered  creatures,  yet  satis- 
fied that  its  work  was  well  done.  The  robin 
was  past  fluttering  when  Henry  lifted  it  out 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  67 

of  the  water.  It  was  drowned,  and  its  neck 
was  broken.  He  laid  it  in  the  canoe,  feeling 
that  this  was  a  tragedy  which  grosser  sights 
had  robbed  him  of  the  power  to  mourn  as  he 
should. 

And  it  was  a  delight  to  be  floating  upon 
liquid  air.  Sunshine  lay  on  the  bottom  of  the 
lake.  Pebbles  were  glistening  money.  The 
shining  bed  rose  deceitful  to  the  very  hand, 
until  you  dipped  a  paddle  to  touch  it,  and 
found  it  was  fathoms  below.  That  pale  blue 
medium  clarified  these  depths  which  dazzles 
us  in  the  sun-warmed  air  overhead.  Such 
transparent,  sky-born  water  could  be  no  kin 
to  the  frothy  surge  through  which  he  had 
paddled  for  his  life  two  nights  before.  When 
Henry  drew  the  canoe  on  the  beach,  he  saw 
that  Marie  was  painfully  trying  to  stand. 
He  hurried  with  the  robin  in  his  hand,  and 
put  one  arm  around  her  to  support  her. 

"I  can  walk,"  she  declared,  her  face  strained 
by  the  effort.  "Run  in,  Monsieur  Amedee, 
and  leave  me  alone." 

"You  are  hurt.  I  wish  I  had  let  the  robin 
go.  The  fish -hawk  drowned  it  before  I  could 
reach  it,  anyhow." 

"Let   me  have   the  poor  thing.     O    little 


68  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

bird,  how  it  pained  me  to  see  you  dragged 
through  the  water!" 

She  stood  on  one  foot,  and  held  the  robin 
against  her  shoulder,  smoothing  its  wet  dark 
feathers. 

"You  must  let  me  help  you,"  said  Henry. 

"I  have  only  bruised  my  knee.  A  girl 
who  lives  with  Chippewas  does  n't  mind  that. 
George  has  gone  for  leaves  to  put  on  it,  and 
to-morrow  it  will  be  well." 

Marie  limped  a  step  or  two,  and  physical 
anguish  whitened  her  lips.  Without  further 
parley  Henry  lifted  her  in  his  arms. 

"O  Monsieur  Amedee,  you  will  break  the 
gull's  eggs!  We  want  to  roast  them  for  our 
dinner." 

"Birds  and  eggs  are  nothing  to  me,"  said 
the  Englishman. 

He  blamed  the  dead  robin;  but  Marie  held 
it  and  her  pocket  up,  and  guarded  them  from 
the  boughs.  He  set  her  down  in  the  lodge, 
and  turned  his  back  upon  the  little  home- 
stead, feeling  disturbed  as  by  a  catastrophe 
in  his  family,  until  George  ran  whimpering  in 
with  some  healing  plant,  and  Marie  finished 
her  surgery.  She  looked  out  of  the  lodge 
when  free  to  announce  it,  and  called: 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  69 

"The  gull's  eggs  are  safe." 

"Now  I  breathe,"  mocked  Henry.  "I  have 
kicked  about  a  great  deal  of  moss  on  account 
of  the  gull's  eggs." 

"  Oh,  but  Monsieur  Amedee,"  Marie  laughed, 
"this  is  not  a  serious  hurt,  indeed.  It  will 
heal  in  a  few  days.  You  should  have  seen 
George's  sprained  foot.  Father  Jonois,  the 
priest  from  L'Arbre  Croche,  had  it  in  clay, 
and  made  him  lie  still  for  a  week." 

George  stooped  down  and  felt  of  both  his 
feet.  When  he  identified  the  one  which  had 
been  sprained,  he  crumpled  his  face  with  an 
expression  of  great  suffering,  and  offered  it 
to  Henry  to  look  at. 

"Give  it  rest,  my  son,"  responded  Henry, 
paternally,  and  the  boy  sat  down  in  literal 
obedience,  and  took  it  upon  his  knee  until 
something  else  attracted  his  light  attention. 

Marie  crept  out  of  the  lodge.  The  jealous 
eyes  in  the  balcony  saw  her  lifted  again, 
laughing  and  startled,  but  confident  in  the 
gentle  strength  of  her  bearer,  and  put  in  the 
mossy  chair.  Her  spirit  came  and  went  in 
her  face,  eagerly  remembering  mother-fond- 
lings and  mother-care,  and  wistfully  looking 
forward  to  some  unrealized  good.  Her  little 


70  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

ears,  the  shadings  of  her  skin,  and  the  soft 
rounding  of  her  features  tempted  as  a  child's 
cheek  tempts.  The  island  shyness  was  in  her 
withdrawal  from  Henry  when  he  would  have 
placed  her  more  to  his  satisfaction  in  her 
chair.  But  this  day,  to  which  two  had  come 
from  partial  isolation  in  the  wilderness,  was 
more  effectual  than  months  of  ordinary  meet- 
ing and  parting. 

"We  must  now  build  the  oven,  George," 
directed  Marie.  So  George  brought  pebbles 
from  the  beach,  and  he  and  Henry  scraped  a 
hollow  in  the  moss  and  lined  it  with  them. 
The  dryest  bits  of  wood  from  drift  washed 
high,  and  bleached  in  the  sun,  were  put  into 
the  hollow.  George  knew  how  to  start  a  fire 
by  the  Indian  method,  but  when  the  spark 
answered  his  efforts,  and  was  sheltered  with 
cedar  boughs,  both  he  and  Henry  were  at 
much  trouble  to  keep  the  fire  clear  so  that 
little  smoke  would  rise  to  betray  the  spot. 
Red  coals  were  soon  fading  to  ashes,  and  the 
eggs,  wrapped  in  wet  leaves,  put  under  them. 
It  was  a  long  meal,  as  protracted  as  some  cul- 
minating feast,  and  accompanied  by  guarded 
talk  and  laughter.  Trivial  things  were  no 
longer  trivial ;  they  had  become  intensified 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  71 

life.  George,  unconscious  of  his  chaperonage, 
sat  picking  his  egg-shell  beside  the  table. 
But  the  Englishman  sat  near  Marie's  feet, 
and  told  her  parts  of  his  experience ;  conceal- 
ing, as  men  do,  some  of  it  which  direct-gazing 
eyes  like  hers  might  not  look  at.  Yet  he  had 
the  virginal  innocence  of  young  and  beauti- 
ful manhood.  This  day  hinted  to  him  pos- 
sible harmonies  in  the  dumb  instrument  of 
life  which  he  could  not  interpret.  To  make 
wealth  had  been  his  best  understanding  of 
living ;  to  brave  danger  and  exchange  his 
youth  for  money.  There  might,  however,  be 
a  perfection  of  existence  for  which  there  was 
no  equivalent. 

A  young  balsam-fir,  small  and  tough,  and 
as  straight  as  a  needle,  grew  near  the  table. 
Marie  selected  this  for  a  staff,  and  Henry  cut 
it  down  and  peeled  it,  carefully  removing  the 
branches,  which  grew  in  circles  around  the 
stem. 

"  George  and  I  will  have  to  take  the 
canoe,"  she  said  regretfully.  "  We  brought  it 
here  for  you  ;  but  the  trail  from  the  bay  will 
be  easier  for  me." 

"  Let  me  help  you  to  the  lodges,"  urged 
Henry. 


72  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  No;  George  will  help  me.  The  chief  left 
word  that  you  must  not  risk  being  seen  about 
the  lodges." 

"  When  is  Wawatam  coming  back? " 

"  I  do  not  know.  We  will  feed  you  with 
the  best  we  have.  George  and  I  have  a  gar- 
den in  the  open  land  at  the  other  side  of  the 
island.  There  may  soon  be  vegetables  for 
you.  My  salad  was  out  from  the  ground 
last  week,  and  I  have  a  bed  of  little  herbs." 

Henry  pictured  the  boy  and  girl  working 
in  their  garden,  and  felt  a  homesick  desire  to 
follow  them  to  the  spot,  and  see  again  the 
plants  which  answer  civilized  culture. 

"  I  wish  I  could  dig." 

"  Perhaps  you  may  if  that  strange  canoe  is 
really  gone,  and  no  other  comes." 

George  gathered  the  fragments  of  black- 
ened egg-shell  and  put  them  into  the  oven, 
and  covered  the  pit  of  ashes  with  fir  twigs. 
The  day  was  nearly  spent  when  he  held  the 
canoe  to  the  beach  and  the  other  two  came 
halting  toward  it,  Marie  looking  abroad  on 
the  lakes  and  feeling  the  influence  of  late 
afternoon.  Accustomed  as  she  was  to  their 
changes  and  misty  effects,  they  gave  her 
beauty  at  this  gazing  which  they  had  before 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  73 

withheld.  She  stood  still  between  her  staff 
and  Henry,  and  loved  them  anew.  The  sun 
was  already  behind  cliffs,  but  not  swallowed 
by  the  water.  His  warning  was  bringing 
stray  island  birds  home.  The  evening  col- 
ors were  not  yet  created;  only  a  fore-glow 
hinted  what  they  might  be  when  sunset  was 
complete. 

The  Englishman  owned  no  hat  to  take  off, 
but  he  raised  his  hand  to  uncover  his  head  as 
the  boat  moved  away.  He  and  the  French 
girl  both  smiled,  and  she  admonished  him 
afresh,  so  he  went  back  through  the  curtain 
into  the  loneliness  of  his  little  world.  The 
day  spent  in  the  Skull  Rock  seemed  an  ex- 
perience at  the  beginning  of  life.  He  felt 
sure  Wawatam  could  not  send  him  to  Detroit. 
Savage  living  meant  irregular  meals  and  wild 
diet,  and  animal  wariness  in  going  about; 
yet  he  wondered  if  he  would  be  domesticated 
at  the  lodges  when  Wawatam  came  back,  and 
if  they  should  pass  the  winter  on  the  island. 

His  camp  was  becoming  a  pit  of  gloom, 
and  he  thought  of  putting  his  provisions  in 
the  lodge  where  he  could  keep  them  from 
small  night  prowlers.  He  found  rolled  up 
in  the  pack  a  deerskin  bag  holding  an  en- 


74  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

tire  set  of  dressing-tools  which  he  had  once 
given  his  brother  Wawatam,  who  hung  them 
up  unused.  The  joy  of  a  civilized  man  in 
brushes  overbalanced  all  Henry's  losses.  He 
stood  with  the  bag  in  his  hand,  blessing  the 
fraternal  impulse  which  had  made  him  at- 
tempt to  groom  his  brother,  when  the  top  of 
the  green  amphitheater  populated  itself  to 
his  dilating  sight.  Pani,  the  Indian  girl  who 
had  concealed  him  in  Langlade's  attic,  stood 
up  from  creeping  on  her  hands  and  knees. 
She  had  appeared  as  silently  in  the  time  of 
Henry's  peril  at  the  fort,  and  he  glanced 
sharply  in  every  direction,  his  blood  leaping 
at  that  peculiar  swell  and  gush  of  the  lake 
which  he  knew  must  be  only  a  ripple. 

Pani  stepped  as  deftly  as  a  cat  down  the 
irregular  slope,  keeping  her  eyes  on  the 
ground  she  trod.  Nor  did  she  look  up  when 
the  Englishman  met  her,  asking  in  haste : 

"Are  the  Chippewas  coming,  Pani?" 

The  Indian  girl  shook  her  head.  Her  arms 
hung  humbly  by  her  sides. 

"  Do   you  bring   news   from  Michilimacki- 


nac?' 


She  again  shook  her  head. 


THE    GHOST-FLOWER  75 

"  Did  you  come  here  by  yourself?  " 

Pani  nodded.  The  toe  of  her  right  moc- 
casin worked  back  and  forth  in  the  moss. 

"Then  it  was  your  canoe  they  saw  in  the 
bay.  And  you  paddled  over  alone  from  the 
mainland  ?  That  's  not  an  easy  task,  and  you 
took  many  risks.  What  made  you  do  such  a 
thing?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes,  and  gave  him  a  look 
which  confused  his  speech.  He  felt  ashamed 
that  his  strongest  conscious  desire  was  to  have 
this  squaw,  who  saved  his  scalp,  back  in  Fort 
Michilimackinac. 

"  I  have  wished  for  your  blanket,  Pani, — 
the  one  I  dropped  in  the  attic, — more  than 
once  since  I  came  to  the  island." 

"  I  brought  it,"  spoke  Pani  in  imperfect 
French. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl.  But  I  don't  need 
it  now.  Wawatam's  family  have  built  me  a 
lodge,  and  made  me  very  comfortable." 

Henry  noticed  the  bronze  of  her  arms  in 
their  trinkets  of  whiter  metal,  and  the  coarse, 
strong  threads  of  her  hair.  The  language  of 
her  attitude  embarrassed  him.  He  swung  the 
deerskin  sack  in  an  uncertain  hand,  and  turned 


76  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

partly  away  from  her,  wondering  what  he 
should  do.  Pani  spoke  again,  and  the  guttural 
fact  which  she  uttered  made  him  color. 

"  The  ghost-flower  girl,  Wawatam's." 

"I  understand  all  that,  Pani,"  said  the 
Englishman.  "  Sit  down,  will  you  ?  You 
must  be  tired. "  No  heart  could  feel  more 
gratitude  than  his  felt;  but  the  droll  dismay 
of  a  man  who  unexpectedly  finds  himself  too 
attractive  appeared  in  his  face ;  and  Marie 
saw  it. 

The  wash  of  her  returning  canoe  he  had 
taken  for  the  ripple.  Henry  understood  why 
the  white  children  came  back  in  such  haste 
and  silence.  Behind  Marie's  face  was  George's. 
Her  lips  were  parted  to  give  warning. 

She  was  not  conscious  of  spying  on  the 
other  woman,  but  studied  Pani's  errand  in- 
tently, leaning  her  head  sidewise  to  get  a 
better  view  betwixt  the  bushes.  This  barbaric 
figure,  though  coming  from  the  settlement, 
bore  the  stamp  of  the  wilderness ;  as  Marie, 
though  inhabiting  a  wild  island,  had  still  the 
undescribed  air  of  the  women  of  France.  The 
difference  between  them  was  more  than  a  dif- 
ference of  race ;  it  was  a  difference  of  spirit. 
But  the  white  girl  took  no  thought  of  herself 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  77 

in  contrast  with  this  new  comer.  The  cruel 
amusement  of  youth  appeared  in  her  eyes  and 
at  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  She  resented 
vaguely  as  in  her  own  person  the  drooping 
humility  of  the  Indian  girl. 

Henry  exclaimed  with  too  much  eagerness 
when  he  met  her  eye : 

"  Mademoiselle,  Pani  has  come  over  from 
the  fort.  This  is  Pani,  the  only  friend  I  had 
when  the  garrison  was  killed.  She  hid  me 
in  Langlade's  attic. " 

"  Does  she  bring  word  that  any  Chippewas 
are  coming  ?  "  inquired  Marie. 

"  No  ;  she  knows  of  none." 

"  Did  the  chief  send  her  with  any  mes- 
sage?" 

"  Did  he,  Pani  ? "  said  the  Englishman, 
passing  the  inquiry  on.  But  the  reticent  en- 
voy made  no  reply. 

"  I  am  afraid  she  has  been  about  the  island 
hungry  since  yesterday,  for  it  must  have  been 
her  canoe  you  saw." 

"That  is  true,  monsieur,  for  we  have  just 
found  it  again." 

"  Can't  you  take  her  to  the  lodges  with 
you  ? "  asked  Henry,  feeling  his  brain  emit 
the  proposition  in  a  flash. 


78  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Marie,  with  sincere 
readiness.  "The  grandmother  will  make  her 
very  welcome. " 

"  Go,  then,  with  mademoiselle,  Pani.  It  was 
good  of  you  to  remember  me,  and  come  so 
far  to  see  if  I  were  safe." 

"  Let  us  go,  Pani,"  said  the  French  girl's 
persuasive  contralto.  "The  sun  is  setting.  It 
will  soon  be  dark  in  the  woods." 

Pani  gave  her  a  slighting  glance.  The 
southern  Indian's  shape  rose,  the  shoulders 
drawing  backward  and  the  aboriginal  features 
rearing  themselves ;  and  turning  her  head 
toward  Henry,  she  scorned  his  tame  care 
with  the  bitterest  look  he  ever  encountered. 

The  three  Europeans  watched  her  supple 
back  as  she  mounted  the  ascent  of  rocks  and 
ferns.  Even  George  dumbly  felt  her  hurt, 
and  would  have  restrained  her.  His  one  eye 
remained  focused  on  the  pines  which  closed 
after  Pani  until  Marie  pulled  him  to  the  canoe. 
Reluctantly  handling  his  paddle,  he  sent  the 
boat  out  on  a  pink  sheen,  reflecting  sunset. 
Rose-colored  air  softened  near  cliffs  and  dis- 
tant islands.  Eastward  there  was  no  horizon 
line,  but  a  concave  hemisphere  with  little  par- 
allel lines  of  pink  vapor  drawn  across  it.  A 


THE   GHOST-FLOWER  79 

triangular  ripple  was  broken  in  the  motionless 
lake  by  the  canoe.  Already  the  arch  of  rock 
with  its  avalanche  of  waste  below  was  a 
savage  ruin,  framing  darkness. 

Henry  called  once  after  the  boat,  but  got 
no  reply.  He  thought  of  the  night  woods 
and  an  Indian's  skulking ;  and  then  he  felt 
ashamed  of  himself  for  imagining  that  a 
gentle  and  merciful  creature  like  Pani  could 
do  harm  to  any  other  woman. 

He  sat  down  in  the  lodge  door,  his  aimless 
hand  encountering  the  drowned  robin,  which 
Marie  had  left  there.  He  took  it  up  and 
stroked  the  wet  feathers,  for  its  little  plumes 
still  lay  penciled  close  against  its  breast ;  and 
while  he  stroked  it,  his  own  breast  rose  and 
fell  with  the  strong  sigh  of  a  man  who  suffers 
unconfessed  pain. 


PART   III 


THE    RIFT    IN    THE    ISLAND 

A  SHES  as  soft  as  down  and  as  fine  as  the 
JT\.  motes  which  swim  unseen  in  the  air 
blew  from  a  pine  fire  toward  the  lodges. 
There  were  two  of  these  conical  houses, 
standing  near  together  and  facing  the  west. 
The  space  of  fairly  level  grassy  land  was 
surrounded  by  oaks  and  beeches,  which  arose 
in  strength,  stretching  their  limbs  abroad  and 
making  shady  arcades  all  around  it. 

Marie  Paul  sat  on  a  bench  in  one  of  these 
shadows,  her  quill-work  in  her  lap,  watching 
the  Indian  grandmother  drag  fuel  up  from 
the  forest.  In  times  past  she  had  put  her- 
self heartily  to  such  tasks  when  George  was 
not  at  hand,  sparing  the  aged  back  which 
bent  to  so  much  labor.  But  now  her  gaze 
at  the  old  woman  saw  nothing;  it  was  indif- 
ferent to  the  outer  signs  of  life.  Her  languid 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  81 

head  rested  against  the  tree  behind  her;  lace- 
work  of  the  pine- ashes  formed  upon  her  knee 
without  being  distorted  by  a  movement.  She 
was  conscious  of  a  stifling  breath  or  two  as 
the  blue  veil  was  curled  around  her  by  the 
wind.  This  was  the  second  day  Marie  had 
crept  to  the  bench  that  her  Latin  prejudices 
long  before  caused  to  be  built  in  the  camp. 
As  for  Wawatam  and  his  grandmother,  they 
preferred  a  mat  on  the  ground,  and  George 
sat  anywhere,  with  adaptability  unusual  in 
his  race.  But  Marie  must  have  a  raised  seat 
in  the  shadow  of  jutting  trees. 

She  listened  for  George's  return.  She  had 
trusted  him  twice  with  the  Englishman's  food. 
The  first  day  George  did  not  find  Henry  in 
his  camp,  and  she  sent  the  boy  back  in  the 
afternoon.  Henry  had  then  returned  from 
tramping  through  the  woods. 

"Brudder  lonesome,"  declared  George. 
"Brudder  can't  keep  still." 

The  squaw  pushed  her  fagot  under  the  pot, 
and  squatted  on  the  windward  side  of  the 
fire.  Her  coarse  hair  hung  down  her  back. 
A  toothless  smile  opened  the  puckers  in  her 
face  as  she  met  the  girl's  eye.  Marie  won- 
dered if  her  own  neck  would  ever  fall  into 


82  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

such  leather  creases,  and  the  underlying 
bloom  fade  and  blacken  in  her  skin.  A 
week  ago  she  had  looked  forward  to  age 
as  some  indifferent  change  to  which  she 
must  come  with  rocks  and  trees,  expecting 
dignity  from  hoariness;  but  now  she  dreaded 
the  remote  robber  with  unaccountable  terror. 
It  was  a  wicked  thing  to  value  her  tinted, 
supple  flesh  with  such  passion;  Father  Jonois 
would  lay  penance  on  her  if  he  discovered 
this  state  of  mind. 

"  Noko,"  spoke  Marie,  using  the  familiar 
abbreviation  for  grandmother,  "are  you  very 
old?" 

The  Chippewa  woman  turned  her  head  from 
side  to  side  mournfully — the  universal  sign- 
language  of  barbarian  women  when  expres- 
sion fails  them.  "  Old  as  the  summer-maker, 
my  child." 

Marie  no  longer  cared  eagerly  for  the  sum- 
mer-maker and  his  kindred  myths. 

"  Do  you  like  to  be  old  ?  " 

"  It  cannot  be  helped.  You  bear  children, 
you  draw  wood  and  dress  meat,  and  the  sea- 
sons pass.  It  cannot  be  helped." 

The  fate  of  aboriginal  woman  stared  Marie 
in  the  face.  Her  black  lashes  made  narrow 


THE   RIFT   IN    THE    ISLAND  83 

lines  of  her  gray  eyes  as  she  pondered  the 
sight.  By  some  way  she  arrived  at  the 
inquiry : 

"  Noko,  what  is  your  opinion  of  men  ?  " 

"They  are  all  the  same,  on  island  or  main- 
land, my  child.  When  you  are  beautiful  they 
kill  one  another  for  you ;  when  you  are  ugly 
they  sneer  at  you.  Two  chiefs  once  fought 
over  me."  The  squaw  laid  her  arms  on  her 
knees  and  laughed  in  them  at  the  recollection. 

"  But  white  men — they  are  not  like  red 
men." 

"Yes;  all  the  same.  Men  are  men.  The 
more  they  come  soft,  humble,  creeping  the 
ground  like  the  panther,  the  more  they  will 
eat  you  up  and  laugh  at  you." 

"  Then,  Noko,  why  did  the  good  God  make 
women  to  believe  in  them  ?  " 

"  Because  the  good  God  knows  they  can't 
get  along  without  women." 

"  But  there  must  be  some  good  men,  very 
high  above  panthers  and  such  things.  Is  your 
own  grandson  a  panther  ?  " 

"  No ;  my  grandson  he  is  a  good  man,"  an- 
swered Noko,  with  tribal  jealousy.  "  Much 
better  than  the  French  or  English." 

"I  should  like  to  ask  the  priest  about  it; 


84  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

but  there  are  some  things  I  cannot  ask  him, 
no  matter  how  they  perplex  me.  We  ought 
to  be  old  first,  Noko,  and  when  we  have  wis- 
dom enough,  grow  young." 

"  Would  n't  do,"  said  the  grandmother, 
rising  to  stir  the  pot.  "  Never  would  marry 
any  man  at  all,  then." 

The  savage  cast  of  her  copper  face,  with 
its  prominent  nose-arch  and  cheek-bones, 
was  not  repellent.  Since  coming  to  the 
island  Marie  had  made  the  best  of  Noko's 
company.  It  was  scarcely  improving;  she 
went  to  the  woods  and  the  saints  for  society; 
but  it  was  comforting.  The  primitive  woman 
is  a  human  hen;  such  wings  as  she  has  are 
spread  to  shelter  her  brood.  Noko  cooked 
choice  bits  for  the  growing  girl,  and  on  sum- 
mer evenings  often  sat  chanting  for  her  the 
folk-songs  and  stories  of  the  Chippewas. 
Noko's  knotted  red  hands  were  spared  many 
a  hard  task  by  skilful  younger  ones.  The 
grim  but  wholesome  old  heart  had  indeed 
but  one  fondness  in  its  age,  and  that  was  not 
for  Wawatam.  The  grandmother  was  only 
proud  of  him. 

A  phoebe-bird  darted  calling  across  the 
open  space,  its  speck  of  shadow  moving  like 


THE   RIFT  IN   THE   ISLAND  85 

a  flash.  Some  comer  startled  it  from  the 
lower  boughs.  Marie  turned  her  head,  and 
saw  the  extended  body  of  a  deer  rising  up 
the  slope,  and  George's  face  under  it.  Henry 
and  Wawatam  were  behind  him,  coming  to 
the  lodges  together. 

Wawatam  called  in  Chippewa  to  Noko, 
who  answered  him;  and  George  threw  the 
deer  down  before  her.  The  chief  turned 
toward  Marie.  From  a  stalking,  stalwart 
Indian  he  changed  suddenly  to  an  apolo- 
getic figure  in  dejected  buckskins.  She  had 
climbed  upon  the  bench,  and  held  to  the  tree 
for  support.  Her  back  was  toward  him  and 
the  Englishman.  Every  soft  curve  of  waist 
and  shoulder  was  followed  by  the  close  gown ; 
half-curls  powdered  her  neck  in  a  short, 
raveled  plume,  the  hair  parting  above  them  in 
a  white  track  from  nape  to  crown.  Immature 
as  it  was,  this  girlish  figure  had  enthralling 
force  which  made  it  a  central  presence. 

Henry  did  not  understand  why  she  hid  her 
face.  His  voice  had  a  piercing  appeal  as  he 
asked : 

"  What  is  the  matter,  mademoiselle?" 

"  The  chief  knows,"  answered  Marie.  "Ask 
him." 


86  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  War-kettles  boiling  at  the  fort,"  explained 
Wawatam  in  guarded  Chippewa  to  his  bro- 
ther. He  put  his  hand  on  his  mouth.  To 
have  the  hated  feast  detected  the  moment  of 
his  return  was  confusing. 

"  His  face  looks  like  a  wolfs,"  said  Marie. 

"  But  I  did  not  want  to  taste  it,"  pleaded 
the  enforced  cannibal.  He  cast  a  glance  of 
wrath  at  his  grandmother,  who  had  revealed 
that  such  feasts  were  held  after  every  Indian 
victory.  It  was  very  unpleasant  to  have 
women  meddle  in  tribal  politics.  Noko  and 
George  were  in  consultation  about  the  deer. 

"  Consider  what  a  poor  lot  we  were  at 
Michilimackinac,  mademoiselle,"  said  Henry, 
recklessly.  "  If  Wawatam  has  eaten  a  bite 
of  the  garrison  to  save  the  trader,  he  has 
afflicted  himself  to  little  purpose,  and  is  to  be 
pitied." 

Wawatam's  eyes  were  uneasy,  and  his 
usual  placid  benevolence  was  driven  out  of 
his  countenance.  He  knew  that  Father  Jonois 
would  exact  penance  from  him  as  a  Christian 
Indian ;  but  what  was  a  Chippewa  chief  to  do 
when  his  people  boiled  the  English  and  made 
him  dip  his  hand  in  the  kettle  as  a  test  of 
good  faith  ? 


THE  RIFT   IN   THE  ISLAND  87 

Marie's  trifling  with  his  dignity  was  the 
amusement  of  his  life.  When  she  was  a  year 
younger  she  had  beaten  his  shoulders  with  a 
balsam  stick  for  presuming  to  slight  some 
command  of  hers,  and  Wawatam  had  doubled 
himself  over  and  taken  this  squaw-drubbing 
with  silent  delight.  Yet  she  depended  on 
him  as  a  father,  and  spoke  of  him  as  the 
chief,  never  using  his  name  in  the  careless 
English  fashion.  The  relations  between  the 
Christianized  savage  and  his  French  foster- 
child  were  so  natural  and  guileless  that  in 
all  her  imaginings  she  had  never  pictured 
Wawatam  as  her  lover.  There  was  in  her 
blood  no  instinct  against  him  except  the  in- 
stinct of  rating  him  with  George  simply  as 
one  of  her  good  creatures.  Wawatam  knew 
how  to  fight,  how  to  hunt,  and  how  to  manage 
his  fraction  of  the  Chippewas.  He  could 
command  any  unmarried  squaw  of  the  tribe 
to  his  lodge.  And  he  had  thought  it  would 
be  easy,  when  the  convenient  time  came,  to 
mention  to  Marie  that  they  would  take  the 
sacrament  of  marriage  together  at  L'Arbre 
Croche.  Father  Jonois  did  not  discourage 
this  plan. 

"Tell  him  to  go  away,"  said  Marie. 


88  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

Wawatam  did  not  understand  her  English. 
In  camp  his  entire  family  spoke  Chippewa. 
He  turned  for  interpretation  to  Henry,  the 
wrinkles  at  his  eye-corners  drawn  down  by  a 
sinister  look.  Henry  felt  it  was  a  climax  in 
his  experience  when  he  was  forced  to  mediate 
between  an  elected  bride  and  a  cannibal  hus- 
band from  whom  she  hid  her  face.  He  had 
seen  her  moving  like  a  bird  through  the  wil- 
derness, a  part  of  it  and  its  free  life.  Disgust 
for  all  the  conditions  which  hamper  existence 
here  filled  him  with  sudden  desire  for  death. 
He  wondered  at  his  hiding  and  his  pains  to 
prolong  such  contemptible  misery. 

"  She  says  she  wants  you  to  go  away." 

Wawatam  spoke  angrily  to  Marie  in  Chip- 
pewa: 

" Why  must  I  go  away?  Is  it  because  the 
Pani  woman  has  been  here  and  brought  me 
a  message  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  the  Pani  woman  who  came 
to  monsieur's  camp  ?  She  did  not  take  a  mes- 
sage. And  if  I  had  sent  you  one,  would  you 
have  heeded  it  any  more  than  you  did  the 
priest,  who  must  be  at  Michilimackinac  now  ?  " 

The  abjectness  of  a  smitten  conscience  re- 
turned upon  Wawatam.  He  said  in  gutturals 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  89 

under  his  breath,  "The  Pani  woman  was  a 
fool ! " 

"  I  am  a  very  bad  man,"  he  acknowledged, 
taking  Henry  into  new  confidence  with  twin- 
kles of  the  eye. 

"You  are  so  bad  that  I  cannot  endure  to 
look  at  you.  You  are  so  bad  I  am  afraid  no 
saint  will  intercede  for  you.  Go  into  the 
woods  and  fast." 

"  But  if  the  chief  begins  a  fast  now  he  will 
leave  his  brother  in  danger." 

"  Why  did  you  bring  him  here  if  there  is 
danger  ? " 

"  My  brother  is  safest  where  I  am." 

"  But  why  have  you  come  ?  " 

"  The  best  trail  leads  past  the  lodges." 

"  What  is  the  danger  ? " 

"A  band  of  warriors  have  come  from  De- 
troit. He  is  the  only  Englishman  left.  They 
told  me  they  must  have  him." 

There  was  silence  in  camp.  George  lolled 
on  the  ground  at  a  distance,  watching  the 
grandmother's  skilful  knife  as  she  skinned  the 
deer.  The  sun  was  warm  on  his  back,  and 
his  hair  showed  glints  like  gold-stone.  He 
would  never  be  lashed  by  the  mysterious 
tides  of  his  own  spirit. 


90  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked 
Marie.  She  had  not  yet  turned  her  face  from 
the  tree. 

"  Going  to  put  him  in  a  canoe  to  go  to 
Sault  Ste.  Marie." 

"When?" 

"  Now." 

"  Does  the  chief  go  with  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  is  in  Madame  Cadotte's  boat  that 
he  will  go." 

"  Where  is  it  now  ?  " 

"  Coming  from  Michilimackinac  to  take 
him  off  on  the  west  side  of  the  island." 

Marie  knew  without  explanation  that  this 
would  be  the  safest  place  for  Henry  to  em- 
bark. There  was  a  sandy,  level  beach  where 
the  water  was  deep  enough  to  allow  the 
approach  of  even  a  sailing  vessel,  which  could 
then  move  on  unobserved  around  the  north- 
ern shore  toward  the  Sault.  She  had  once 
seen  Madame  Cadotte,  the  Indian  wife  of  the 
Frenchman  who  was  called  chief  of  all  the 
Indians  around  the  Sault. 

Rapid  Chippewa  questions  and  answers 
escaped  Henry,  anxious  as  he  was  to  under- 
stand them. 

"  But  if  other  canoes  meet  them,  will  he 
not  be  seen  ?  " 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  91 

"  No  matter,"  answered  Wawatam ;  "  he  is 
a  Canadian  now,  like  the  Canadians  that  row 
for  Madame  Cadotte." 

Marie  half  turned  herself  and  looked  at 
Henry.  He  was  so  changed  that  she  won- 
dered how  she  had  been  sure  of  his  pres- 
ence when  he  and  Wawatam  were  ascending 
the  slope  together.  Some  of  his  own  gar- 
ments were  discarded,  and  he  wore  in  their 
place  the  blanket  coat  of  ordinary  Canadians, 
and  like  them  had  a  handkerchief  knotted 
around  his  head.  His  face  was  clean  shaven, 
and  it  gave  her  through  every  revealed  line, 
and  through  fixed  eyes,  the  silent  passion  and 
longing  which  had  already  grown  mighty 
under  repression.  That  chemistry  of  the 
spirit  which  draws  two  irresistibly  together, 
through  space,  through  obstacles,  through 
time, —  which  may  work  anguish  to  both,  but 
must  work  because  they  exist, —  kept  these 
young  creatures  an  instant  conscious  of 
nothing  but  each  other.  Marie  resisted  it. 
She  sometimes  had  such  intimations  of  happi- 
ness when  lying  in  the  woods  with  her  head 
beside  a  bunch  of  Indian-pipes,  or  when  a 
height  was  hooded  with  thunder-clouds  while 
the  beaches  flashed  in  the  sun.  The  joy 
was  like  a  recollection  of  heaven;  blessed- 


92  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

ness  came  near;  you  could  not  account  for 
it.  She  thought  it  had  come  oftener  when 
she  was  a  child.  But  her  capacity  for  it 
grew.  Every  atom  of  her  body  glowed 
with  intense  life.  She  hid  her  face  against 
the  tree. 

Wawatam's  features  hardened.  Any  man 
but  his  English  brother  might  have  died  for 
such  a  look.  His  natural  hatred  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  stock  urged  him  to  feel  for  the  scalp- 
lock  on  that  golden  head.  But  he  was  bound 
by  visions  and  traditions  stronger  in  his  spirit 
than  the  Christian  religion  to  keep  in  safety 
the  man  of  his  adoption.  He  said  to  himself 
in  Chippewa,  "  It  is  the  chief  and  not  the 
Pani  woman  that  was  a  fool." 

"  Come  on,"  he  said  curtly  to  Henry. 

The  trader,  conscious  of  the  offense  he  had 
given,  yet  drew  a  long,  reluctant  breath. 

"  Good-by,  mademoiselle." 

"  Good-by,  Monsieur  Felix." 

"  Heavens  !  Felix  !  "  Henry  drew  another 
deep  breath. 

"  It  will  not  be  Amedee  until  afternoon." 

"  In  the  afternoon  I  shall  be  far  from  the 
island." 

"  Poor  Monsieur  Felix  !  " 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  93 

"  Thank  you,  mademoiselle,  for  your  thou- 
sand kindnesses  to  me.  I  blame  myself  for 
the  hurt  you  got  on  the  beach.'7 

"What  a  tender  conscience  you  have, 
monsieur ! "  She  was  no  longer  his  careful 
mother,  but  a  mocking  creature,  giving  him 
one  laughing  look  over  her  shoulder.  "  It 
was  the  fish-hawk." 

"I  hope  your  lameness  is  cured." 

"  The  only  thing  that  hurts  me  now,  mon- 
sieur, is  that  the  chief  killed  gulls  to  make  my 
feather  dress,  instead  of  fish -hawks." 

"  Then  you  have  a  dress  of  gull-feathers?" 

"  Yes ;  it  turns  rain." 

"  You  wore  it  by  the  fireplace  on  the  beach 
the  night  I  came  to  the  island  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur.  The  chief  was  a  long 
time  collecting  breasts.  And  when  he  brought 
them  to  me  I  cried  —  that  so  many  birds 
should  die  to  cover  me.  If  I  but  had  a  cap 
to  match  it  now,"  added  Marie,  drolly. 

"The  French  have  tender  hearts,"  mocked 
Henry. 

"  It  is  true,  Monsieur  Felix.  They  never 
desire  the  death  of  any  one.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary for  them  to  recite  from  their  prayer- 
books  as  the  English  do,  when  the  priest 


94  THE   WHITE    ISLANDER 

says,  '  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder ' — *  Lord, 
have  mercy  upon  us,  and  incline  our  hearts 
to  keep  this  law/' 

She  mimicked  the  congregational  chant, 
and  Henry  laughed  aloud.  Wawatam  was  in 
the  tense  attitude  of  his  forefathers  watching 
an  enemy  from  ambush.  When  her  voice 
mocked  and  Henry  laughed  the  chiefs  face 
relaxed.  He  picked  up  Marie's  quill-work  from 
the  ground,  and,  before  laying  it  beside  her, 
passed  his  fingers  along  the  shining  stitches, 
as  one  might  try  some  chord  which  would  not 
vibrate.  Living  two  years  under  the  thumb 
of  a  French  islander  had  bred  softer  practices 
in  him  than  he  cared  to  have  his  braves  see. 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  some  service  for  you, 
mademoiselle,"  said  Henry. 

They  were  parting  forever.  And  why 
should  they  not  part  forever  who  had  seen 
each  other  less  than  a  brief  week  ?  Lakes, 
and  land,  and  perils,  time  and  silence,  would 
crowd  between  them.  The  summer  day  was 
perfect  around  them,  the  sun  turning  shadows 
black  on  a  vividly  lighted  earth. 

"  Good-by,  mademoiselle,"  repeated  Henry. 

"  Good-by,  Monsieur  Felix,"  she  answered, 
keeping  her  back  to  him. 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  95 

"Will  you  give  me  your  hand?" 

Marie  extended  a  hand  behind  her. 

"That  is  the  left  one." 

She  gave  him  the  other,  and  it  lay  unre- 
sponsive in  his  while  he  wrung  it. 

"Are  you  angry  with  me?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Monsieur  Felix." 

"  I  have  missed  you  these  two  days.  I  'm 
very  glad  I  found  you  on  the  island,"  blun- 
dered the  man.  "  It  has  been  a  pleasure;  I 
hope  you  will  be  happy." 

"No  more  time,"  said  Wawatam. 

Henry  kissed  the  round  and  childish  hand. 
He  was  permitted  by  the  usage  of  the  times 
to  do  that.  Wawatam  had  seen  officers  at 
the  fort  kiss  Madame  Cadotte's  hand,  for  she 
was  a  woman  greatly  respected.  Marie  felt 
the  touch  oif  lips.  She  let  her  hand  fall  as  he 
turned  away,  and  stood  still  with  her  face 
toward  the  tree. 

Bushes  stirred  as  Henry  and  Wawatam 
brushed  through  them  on  the  direct  trail  to 
the  western  landing.  Wawatam  bade  George, 
as  he  passed  that  happy  boy,  go  back  through 
the  woods  and  watch  for  Indians  from  the 
fort. 

"  What  do  with  them  ?  " 


96  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  Nothing.  Bring  word  back  to  the 
lodges." 

Reluctant  to  leave  the  deer,  George's  back- 
ward looks  dwelt  with  it,  and  not  with  the 
men.  But  Noko  lifted  herself  from  the  quar- 
tering, and  watched  the  Englishman  out  of 
sight.  The  trees  soon  received  him,  and  she 
was  not  sorry.  He  had  a  handsome  white  face, 
and  eyes  which  looked  through  you  with  an  in- 
fluence like  the  moon.  Marie  had  relieved  her 
old  bones  from  tramping  to  his  haunts  with 
his  food,  and  she  hoped  her  grandson  was 
now  taking  him  off  for  a  long  hunt.  The  less 
one  saw  even  of  adopted  Englishmen  the 
better. 

"  Watch  Indians,"  said  George,  making  a 
half  circuit  of  the  bench  to  face  Marie,  and 
intimating  that  he  waited  for  his  usual  com- 
panionship. 

Marie  gave  him  a  smile  of  the  lips,  and 
picked  bark  from  the  tree,  letting  it  fall  on 
fungus  that  spread  a  pink  umbrella  between 
the  oak's  roots:  many  bits  glanced  off,  but 
one  balanced  itself  and  resisted  efforts  to  dis- 
place it. 

"  Chief  says  watch  Indians,"  repeated 
George. 


THE  RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  97 

"  Bring  my  stick  and  cap  from  the  lodge," 
said  Marie. 

George  brought  them,  and  stood  like  a 
young  bear  on  his  hind  feet  while  she  let  her- 
self down  from  the  bench.  He  would  have 
dropped  on  all  fours  and  made  himself  a  step- 
ping-stone, had  any  other  mind  given  him 
the  impetus.  The  two  went  down  the  trail 
toward  the  beach.  As  soon  as  they  were 
below  the  level  of  the  grandmother's  vision, 
Marie  paused  in  her  limp,  and  said : 

"  You  watch  the  bay  while  I  watch  the 
woods. " 

George's  face  fell  into  creases  of  distress. 
"  George  all  alone/'  he  complained.  "  George 
all  alone  twice." 

"  But  I  cannot  run  with  you  now.  I  am  a 
hundred  years  old,  like  Noko." 

George  still  squirmed,  his  red  face  having 
the  blank  yet  wrathful  expression  of  a  wilful 
baby's. 

"Very  good.  Take  me  with  you  then. 
But  you  must  carry  me,"  said  Marie. 

George  had  carried  her  up  from  the  bay 
the  night  of  her  accident.  He  remembered 
the  strain,  their  long  rests,  Marie's  vain 
efforts  to  help  herself,  and  his  exhaustion 


98  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

when  they  reached  the  lodges.  His  loose 
and  fleshy  body  had  not  the  muscular 
compactness  of  Wawatam's  or  the  mature 
strength  of  Henry's.  He  yielded,  and  went 
on  alone  with  his  rolling  gait,  looking  back 
as  long  as  he  could  see  her. 

Marie  turned  around  the  base  of  the  camp, 
and  put  her  halting  limb  to  reckless  use.  She 
knew  short  cuts  among  the  pines,  and  ven- 
tured many  before  untried.  She  flung  herself 
through  mats  of  juniper  in  the  open  places  as 
a  Highlandman  crosses  streams.  In  times 
past  Marie  had  loved  to  test  her  endurance 
by  long  journeys  afoot,  and  labors  about  the 
camp.  It  was  sweet  to  work  to  the  point  of 
exhaustion,  and  then  throw  herself  on  her 
bed  of  hemlock  and  blankets,  and  sleep  as 
the  rocks  sleep.  Her  vitality  was  so  full  that 
every  awakening  from  sleep  became  a  new 
birth.  She  ran  out  as  rosy  as  Aurora  under 
the  morning  sky,  her  flesh  tingling  with  the 
delight  of  being  alive.  But  this  haste  she 
was  making  to  cross  the  island  had  none  of 
the  laughter  of  youth  in  it.  The  regular 
sweep  of  the  muscles  which  becomes  a  silent 
music,  and  makes  of  walking  a  graceful  and 
glorious  function,  was  lost  to  her  as  she  panted 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  99 

along.  Last  week  a  goddess  moved  from 
beach  to  headland  as  freely  as  the  light; 
to-day  a  limping  girl,  pallid  with  the  effort, 
tried  to  reach  the  north  shore  before  Madame 
Cadotte's  boat  should  pass  by.  She  had  no 
reason  for  wishing  to  see  Madame  Cadotte's 
boat;  but  when  one  has  sat  still  awhile,  it 
becomes  impossible  for  one  to  sit  still  any 
longer. 

The  high  land  sloped  gradually  to  alluvial 
stretches  in  the  direction  which  Henry  and 
Wawatam  had  taken,  but  Marie  climbed  di- 
rectly down  a  hillside  so  steep  that  she  was 
obliged  to  hold  to  trees  and  the  knotty  earth 
itself.  She  missed  her  hold,  and  slid  danger- 
ously, but  the  scratching  and  bruising  did  not 
detain  her  an  instant.  Near  the  bottom  she 
noticed  that  her  balsam  staff  was  no  longer 
in  her  hand.  It  was  not  worth  the  hard 
ascent,  yet  she  climbed  back  in  panting  haste, 
and  found  it  lodged  in  a  bunch  of  fern.  A 
stout  stick  could  have  been  broken  below  with 
half  the  pains. 

The  sun  stood  overhead  as  she  hurried 
through  the  lower  forest.  Her  course  was  as 
nearly  straight  as  the  eye  could  direct  it,  and 
she  came  to  the  lake  in  time  to  see  a  boat 


ioo  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

with  sails  set  getting  beyond  the  eastern 
shore  of  the  island.  Flecks  of  red  like  the 
kerchief-bound  heads  of  Canadians  glimmered 
against  the  white.  No  other  visible  thing 
moved  on  Lake  Huron. 

It  might  not  be  Madame  Cadotte's  boat. 
Marie  sat  on  the  rocks,  watching  eastward 
and  westward  until  she  lost  it,  and  nothing 
else  appeared  on  the  void.  A  wind  which  she 
had  not  noticed  in  her  rapid  journey  made 
indigo  stripes  across  the  water.  There  was  a 
low  roar  as  of  little  falls.  Though  white- 
fringed  rollers  ran  before  the  wind,  some 
clouds  made  flat,  moving  islands  of  their 
shadows.  Overhead  the  light  dazzled. 

Moving  from  rock  to  rock,  Marie  waited 
along  the  beach.  Jaded,  and  dragging  her 
limb,  she  came  to  a  remembered  bluff. 
Some  impulse  of  the  wild  things  among 
which  she  had  lived  drove  her  to  a  hole 
under  the  bluff.  It  was  necessary  to  descend 
among  fragments  of  rock,  and  to  stoop  down 
to  find  it.  She  carried  with  her  such  moss  as 
offered,  and  crept  through  a  tunnel  which  led 
her  into  a  high  cavern.  Water  trickled  from 
above  through  the  place.  She  made  herself 
a  divan  of  the  moss  in  the  driest  spot,  lying 


THE   RIFT'lN'fiiE   ISLAND  101 

recklessly  at  length,  her  head  on  her  arm, 
hidden  from  the  light  of  day. 

The  life  of  the  woods  and  the  hissing  of 
the  lake  were  shut  out.  Her  consciousness 
extended  only  as  far  as  the  water  trickling 
down  her  cell.  Scarcely  a  glimmer  of  light 
came  through  the  tunnel,  for  its  mouth  was 
sunk  below  the  beach.  Marie  turned  once  in 
the  afternoon,  and  changed  the  arm  on  which 
she  lay.  Time's  divisions  were  lost ;  she  had 
come  upon  the  eternal  now.  Yet  so  much  is 
the  spirit  in  the  body's  keeping  that  her 
stupor  passed  to  sleep,  and  she  lay  in  that 
sweet  death  until  forced  to  a  numb  resurrec- 
tion. "  Nothing  matters,"  said  Marie  when 
she  roused. 

The  lake  was  a  sea  of  glass  and  fire,  and 
the  hush  of  summer  night  was  already  in  the 
woods.  The  Detroit  Indians  might  have 
crossed  from  Michilimackinac  and  scattered 
themselves  in  search  over  the  island.  Dew 
dampened  her  hair  and  the  soles  of  her  moc- 
casins. The  rapid  fluttering  of  scarcely  seen 
bats  grazed  her  cheek.  She  kept  repeating 
with  dull  conviction,  "  Nothing  matters  now." 

Wawatam  was  not  at  the  lodges  when  this 
limping  figure  arrived  about  moonrise.  Noko 


102  T-HK   W'H'itE  ISLANDER 

and  George  were  squatted  in  amiable  silence 
by  the  kettle,  watching  a  fragrant  yellow  fire 
lick  its  sides.  Odors  of  venison  and  herbs 
came  to  Marie's  nostrils.  She  had  not  eaten 
since  morning,  and,  creeping  to  the  outdoor 
hearth,  she  sat  down  with  her  family,  laying 
her  staff  beside  her. 

This  was  the  hour  when  Noko  told  Chip- 
pewa  legends ;  but  she  did  not  speak  a  word. 
Some  older  story-teller  was  busy  with  Marie. 
George  waited  only  for  his  supper.  When 
Marie  sat  down  in  the  night  camp  she  never 
had  the  degraded  feeling  of  herding  with  bar- 
barians. These  good  creatures  were  her 
household.  She  often  dipped  out  the  mess 
for  Noko,  and  restrained  George's  animal 
greediness.  Clean  birch  platters  were  kept 
in  readiness,  and  she  had  for  herself  a  knife 
and  spoon  which  Wawatam  bought  at  the 
fort.  The  others  preferred  to  use  their 
fingers.  To-night  the  grandmother  filled 
Marie's  bowl  from  the  general  dish  and 
brought  her  knife  and  spoon.  George  was 
left  to  gulp  unrestrained  except  when  Noko 
hit  him  on  the  back  to  keep  him  from  chok- 
ing. Marie  sat  and  looked  at  the  fire,  where 
beautiful  embers  crumbled,  and  ate  her  food 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  103 

without  tasting  it.  The  moon  was  white  and 
large.  It  threw  shadows  of  the  Indian  wo- 
man and  George,  and  the  dish  between  them, 
and  a  fainter  shadow  of  Marie,  across  the 
smoldering  log. 

Those  usual  inmates  of  northern  lodges, 
the  silent  dogs,  were  lacking  in  Wawatam's 
camp.  None  of  them  were  running  about 
the  island,  on  account  of  Marie's  abhorrence. 
They  were  not  like  the  bluff,  loud-mouthed 
mastiffs  with  which  French  children  played, 
but  uncanny,  wolfish  things,  never  seeking  a 
caress,  and  springing  voiceless  out  of  thick- 
ets. Wawatam  kept  his  dogs  in  another 
camp.  They  could  find  their  wild  living  in 
the  woods,  whether  led  by  a  master  or  their 
instincts. 

Marie  crept  into  her  lodge  and  dropped  its 
flap.  She  took  off  her  blanket  gown,  and  put 
on  another  in  which  she  slept,  and  combed 
and  freshly  plaited  her  hair.  She  had  a  pil- 
low on  her  bed,  a  thing  Noko  despised.  It 
was  made,  though,  only  of  the  dried  needles 
of  sweet  pine  sewn  into  a  piece  of  coarse 
linen.  Beside  the  high  mattress  was  spread 
a  skin  on  which  she  stood.  Noko's  bed  was 
at  the  opposite  arc  of  the  lodge.  No  moon- 


104  THE  WHITE    ISLANDER 

light  came  through  the  mats,  but  a  glim- 
mer from  the  hole  at  the  top  rested  on  her 
head.  Marie  took  her  crucifix,  which  hung 
from  a  rib  in  the  sloping  wall,  and  lay  down 
in  her  bed,  holding  it,  and  uttering  no 
prayer  but  the  dumb  one  of  misery.  She 
watched  the  poles  intersecting  the  fragment 
of  dark  blue  sky  at  the  top  of  the  lodge, 
tilting  her  head  back  on  its  pillow.  Her 
knee  felt  stiff. 

"This  must  be  what  the  priest  calls 
immortality,"  whispered  Marie.  "You  can- 
not die." 

She  turned  on  her  hard  mattress,  and  re- 
solved: "I  will  bathe  in  the  lake  early,  while 
the  water  is  cold.  That  will  drive  this  strange 
feeling  away." 

She  heard  Wawatam  in  the  camp,  giving 
a  string  of  fish  to  his  grandmother.  He  had 
been  out  all  the  afternoon  in  his  canoe.  His 
returning  without  Indian  followers  was  a 
dull  satisfaction  to  her.  Yet  when  a  whiter 
pallor  than  the  moon's  showed  between  the 
lodge-poles,  she  put  on  her  moccasins  in 
haste  to  escape  from  camp,  took  her  clothes 
and  the  thick  linen  towel  which  was  kept  for 
her  use  alone,  and  limped  off  toward  the 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  105 

natural  arch  of  rock.  The  dewy  tents  still 
swam  in  uncertain  darkness.  The  sweet- 
scented  earth  gave  back  the  old  joy  of  morn- 
ing to  Marie.  Crumpled  mist  arose,  floating, 
and  letting  itself  be  wound  slowly  aloft. 
There  was  a  steep  descent  to  the  lake  under- 
neath the  stone  arch,  where  a  long  avalanche 
had  once  fallen.  Marie  let  herself  down  this 
rough  stair  to  her  bath.  The  limpid  ex- 
panse of  water  increased  the  light.  She 
could  see  as  far  as  the  well-known  trees  in 
front  of  Henry's  deserted  camp ;  but  she 
turned  her  back  on  that  place,  and  stripped 
for  the  plunge.  '  Nothing  was  abroad  to  see 
her  but  the  morning  star.  Her  feet  shud- 
dered in  the  shallow  water.  She  waded  out 
and  knelt,  throwing  herself  forward  and  turn- 
ing with  a  splash.  The  blue  drippings  of  a 
glacier  could  be  no  colder.  Streaming  from 
crown  to  heel,  her  body  the  color  of  a  rose, 
she  ran  behind  a  rock  covered  with  pine 
shrubs,  and  polished  her  flesh  to  marble  firm- 
ness. It  was  a  delight  to  feel  the  blood  pal- 
pitate against  her  very  garments  when  she 
was  clothed,  and  to  climb  the  height  like  a 
giantess.  The  bruise  on  her  knee  felt  this 
revival. 


io6  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  Nothing  ails  me,"  exulted  Marie  aloud 
to  the  stirring  birds ;  "I  can  plunge  where 
Indian  women  dare  not." 

A  family  of  mushrooms,  their  white,  fleshy 
umbrellas  half  furled,  waited  beside  her  path, 
and  she  gathered  every  one.  They  would 
have  to  be  skinned  and  salted,  and  soaked 
all  day;  but  by  night  they  could  be  wrapped 
in  deer- meat  with  a  husk  of  clay  over  that, 
and  put  under  the  coals  to  gather  all  the 
venison's  juices.  She  was  proud  to  feel  an 
interest  in  the  food- supply  of  the  camp. 
"But  if  I  had  found  them  when  monsieur  was 
here,"  said  Marie;  and  she  stood  still,  her 
face  changing. 

The  camp-fire  lifted  its  delicate  blue  shaft 
straight  to  the  zenith.  George  was  helping 
Noko  broil  fish  on  some  stones,  and  a  bowl 
of  sagamite  was  set  out  for  the  morning 
meal. 

Wawatam  had  put  on  his  best  dress.  The 
beaver  robe  which  he  wore  only  at  councils 
was  gathered  around  him  and  thrown  over 
one  arm  like  a  Roman  toga,  showing  the 
feather- work  of  his  leggings  and  the  rich  em- 
broidery of  his  tunic.  He  paraded  himself 
across  the  plateau  as  Marie  entered  the  camp, 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  107 

though  through  all  his  dignity  the  childlike 
savage  betrayed  a  gauntness  and  anxiety  of 
visage.  She  busied  herself  with  the  mush- 
rooms. The  amenities  of  civilized  life  he 
never  imitated;  but  Marie  usually  said  good 
day  to  him,  and  he  stopped  beside  her  aggres- 
sively. Wawatam  despised  mushrooms  as  food 
for  men.  The  red  lines  in  his  face  expressed 
disdain  of  such  employment  as  he  said: 
"Put  on  your  best  dress." 
Marie  was  startled. 

"Do  you  hold  a  council  on  the  island?" 
"No.     Go  to  L'Arbre  Croche." 
"I  do  not  want  to  go  to  L'Arbre  Croche 
to-day.     It  was  only  last  month  that  I  went 
to  confession." 

"Father  Jonois  will  marry  you." 
"Father  Jonois  marry  me?      He  cannot" 
"He  will." 

"But  no  priest  can  be  a  husband." 
"Myself,"    said    Wawatam,     slapping    his 
breast;  "I  am  the  husband." 

Marie  threw  her  braids  behind  her  shoul- 
ders, and  restrained  him  by  a  sidewise  turn 
of  the  eye. 

"I  will  not  go  to  L'Arbre  Croche  with  the 
chief." 


io8  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

Her  barbaric  guardian  did  not  know  what 
abhorrence  maids  lavish  on  undesired  suitors. 
In  one  instant  he  changed  from  her  friend  on 
whom  she  depended,  and  to  whom  she  de- 
ferred, into  a  detestable  pursuer.  More  than 
that,  he  robbed  her  of  what  he  was  before ; 
and  there  was  no  other  man  on  earth  to  take 
care  of  her.  Wawatam,  like  the  wolf-boy, 
saw  his  new  shape  himself,  and  he  accused 
her  in  a  guttural  snarl. 

"  You  would  go  with  my  English  brother 
to  L'Arbre  Croche.  You  would  be  wife  to 
him." 

"  I  would  not !  "  Her  whole  body  flashed 
at  Wawatam.  "  I  would  not  be  a  wife  at  all. 
And  you  who  have  neither  fasted  nor  prayed 
since  eating  man's  flesh  —  do  you  think  that 
Father  Jonois  would  give  the  sacrament  of 
marriage  to  you  ?  " 

Frontier  priests  were  obliged  to  make  the 
conditions  of  religion  as  easy  as  they  dared 
for  their  wild  flock ;  but  he  knew  she  was 
right.  Father  Jonois  would  not  give  him  the 
sacrament  of  marriage  until  he  had  done  pen- 
ance for  that  sin  detested  in  the  committing. 
It  was  very  hard  to  be  a  Chippewa  chief 
and  a  baptized  Christian,  the  brother,  more- 


raja."  .'.-•'       ,-  fg 
rFHANTC-i 


"BUT    NO    PRIEST    CAN    BE    A    HUSBAND.' 


THE   RIFT    IN   THE   ISLAND  in 

over,  of  an  adopted  Englishman,  when  that 
Englishman  was  doubtless  his  supplanter. 

Wawatam  said  nothing  more,  and  after  his 
breakfast  went  into  his  lodge.  At  the  un- 
trammeled  Chippewa  breakfast  the  chief  sat 
on  a  mat  outside  his  family  circle.  When 
Marie  was  hanging  the  blankets  of  her  lodge 
to  air,  she  saw  him  in  his  hunting-buckskins 
going  down  toward  the  bay.  The  subdued 
determination  of  his  stride  denoted  that  he 
was  seeking  his  spiritual  counselor. 

George  hesitated  between  Marie  and  the 
chief,  his  dull  mind  apprehending  some 
change  in  his  playmate,  as  well  as  an  altered 
temper  in  Wawatam.  He  followed  his 
adopted  father  at  a  distance,  hoping  to  share 
the  voyage  to  L'Arbre  Croche,  yet  loath  to 
give  up  his  daily  haunts  on  the  island.  Wa- 
watam saw  him  and  beckoned  to  him.  The 
weak  one  of  the  household,  making  this  dumb 
plea  for  companionship,  was  a  comfort  under 
the  circumstances. 

Marie  brought  wood  for  the  grandmother. 
When  Noko  had  no  heavy  labor  she  sat  cross- 
legged  on  a  mat,  busying  herself  with  the 
needlework  of  Indian  women.  Sometimes  she 
trudged  to  the  edge  of  the  island,  digging 


112  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

roots  in  the  woods.  Usually,  however,  she 
spent  her  leisure  soaking  in  the  sunlight 
while  she  sang  in  a  monotonous  whine,  with 
the  rising  and  falling  abruptness  of  barbaric 
music,  the  songs  of  the  Chippewas.  When 
one  touched  Noko  from  without  she  re- 
sponded shrewdly ;  but  she  knew  the  dignity 
of  reticence  and  solitude.  Marie  was  not 
afraid  of  being  questioned  by  her. 

When  enough  sticks  were  accumulated 
near  the  log  which  made  their  chimney-back, 
Marie  went  farther  into  the  woods.  Early 
morning  was  gone  when  she  stood  beside  the 
rift  in  the  island,  though  here  it  was  twilight 
at  noon.  A  drift  of  aged  leaves  had  blown 
from  the  north  for  many  a  winter,  and  partly 
filled  this  crack  in  the  island's  surface.  Its 
scar  extended  as  far  as  the  eye  could  follow, 
and  its  moss-clothed  sides  went  mysteriously 
down  into  earth's  darkness.  Marie  once 
descended  within  the  gap,  and  caught  her 
foot  in  an  angle  of  the  rocks  below.  Such 
gigantic  lips  in  the  ground's  face  were  a 
strange  spectacle.  They  threatened  to  yawn 
and  snap  a  curious  gazer  in. 

Marie  walked  along  the  verge  to  a  place 
narrow  enough  for  her  to  leap  across.  Not 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  113 

far  beyond  the  rift  stood  a  white  birch  like  a 
marble  temple.  Its  central  pillar  was  massive, 
and  delicate  arches  spread  a  drapery  of 
foliage  far  and  wide.  There  was  not  such 
another  birch-tree  on  the  island.  The  high 
ground  on  which  it  stood  fell  abruptly  to  a 
hollow  at  one  side.  Marie  descended  into 
this  little  valley,  and  knelt  before  the  vision 
under  the  roots  of  the  tree  :  a  cavern  of  rock 
tufted  with  fern  and  velvet  lichen ;  the  most 
beautiful  grotto  that  ever  enshrined  an  image. 
It  struck  the  sight  like  a  miracle.  The 
mighty  birch  flourished  overhead,  its  bank  of 
turf  roofing  this  glittering  cell.  Nor  was  the 
image  lacking.  It  stood  on  a  shelf  of  the 
rock,  a  small  plaster  Virgin,  which  had  been 
given  to  her  by  the  priest  for  her  chapel  in 
the  wilderness.  Marie's  last  offering,  some 
withered  flowers  in  a  basket  of  scented  grass, 
stood  on  the  cavern  floor.  The  pitiful  image, 
weather-stained  by  its  western  exposure,  lost 
its  immobility  and  swam  before  her  eyes  as 
she  remembered  the  roving  child  who  put  that 
basket  there.  Her  own  hands,  clasped  upon 
her  beads,  were  strange  and  far-away  mem- 
bers— the  hands  of  a  girl  that  lived  last  week 
without  any  knowledge  of  pain,  and  vanished. 


H4  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

Her  features  took  a  wan  tint  from  the  dim- 
ness of  that  holy  place,  and  her  mouth  trem- 
bled at  beginning  a  personal  invocation. 

"O  Mother  of  God,  take  this  feeling  away 
from  me.  Why  has  it  come  upon  me  ?  I  have 
tried  to  be  a  good  girl.  Here  is  my  dear 
staff,  that  I  lay  down  as  an  offering  to  thee. 
Ever-blessed,  I  have  such  sinful  love  for  this 
staff  that  I  slept  with  it  laid  across  my  breast." 

Marie  covered  her  face  with  both  hands, 
the  rosary  dangling  from  her  fingers,  and 
leaned  forward  until  her  braided  hair  lay 
upon  the  ground.  "  I  will  say  that  he  is  a 
heretic,  he  is  a  heretic,  he  is  a  heretic — but, 

0  Mother  Immaculate,  he  is  the  gentlest  man 

1  ever  saw  in  my  life !     I  shall  never  see  him 
again — but    give  him   to  me — "   she  threw 
herself  backward,   breaking  through    media- 
tion, and  tearing  at  heaven  itself  with  uplifted 
hands  and  a  cry  as  strong  as  the  throes  of 
birth,  "  O  God,  give  him  to  me — you  must — 
I  shall  die  !  " 

The  tiny  image  on  the  shelf,  the  rustling 
birch,  and  the  woods  around  her,  were  gone, 
and  she  was  in  infinite  space  wrestling  with 
the  master  passion  of  the  world,  and  learn- 
ing that  invisible  things  only  are  of  account 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  115 

in  this  life.  The  human  instinct  of  hiding 
passion  kept  her  terrible  weeping  silent.  And 
presently,  exhausted  by  this  prayer  of  an- 
guish, and  daring  to  look  no  more  at  the  im- 
maculate image,  she  fled  limping  from  her 
chapel  and  lay  down  beside  the  rift. 

On  the  opposite  bank  of  the  chasm  a 
phcebe-bird  alighted,  turning  its  head  in- 
quisitively and  considering  her  limp  figure. 
It  took  its  joy  on  the  island  untouched  by 
any  human  anguish. 

"  I  used  to  be  like  that/'  thought  Marie,  as 
the  bird  darted  away.  She  felt  deserted  by 
companions,  who  found  her  no  longer  of  their 
kind. 

Her  denial  of  love,  her  panting  journeys, 
and  manual  labor  to  get  rid  of  it,  were  ended 
as  soon  as  that  prayer  to  Almighty  God  burst 
from  her  soul.  He  knew  what  had  happened 
to  her.  The  saints  and  her  mother  knew. 
There  was  no  use  fighting  it  any  longer.  She 
was  to  live  or  die  by  this  unconquerable  force. 
Once  Marie  had  wanted  to  be  a  saint,  but 
now  she  greedily  desired  to  be  a  happy  wo- 
man. And  this  was  a  strange  thing :  that 
one  should  come,  and  look,  and  possess.  She 
had  seen  officers  from  the  fort  in  their  scarlet 


Ii6  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

coats  without  giving  them  a  second  glance. 
They  were  objects  on  a  landscape. 

Marie  stared  across  the  rift  as  if  her  eyes 
could  penetrate  woods  and  water-mists  to  the 
Sault.  That  light  which  falls  on  the  spot 
where  one's  beloved  stands,  leaving  the  rest 
of  the  world  in  twilight,  and  hallows  his  coun- 
try, giving  it  the  sanctity  of  a  shrine,  now 
rested  there.  She  did  not  know  the  world 
had  come  to  her  until  it  went  away.  To  be 
where  he  was  seemed  the  only  good.  With 
rapture  she  saw  again  the  hopeless  passion 
in  Henry's  eyes  when  he  left  her. 

"  You  are  mine,"  whispered  Marie  through 
space  to  the  secret  ear  of  that  other  soul  who 
must  harken.  Her  hands  and  feet  were  cold, 
her  muscles  were  knotted,  her  face  was  white 
with  the  stress  of  this  secret  cry,  "Come  back 
to  me  !  You  must  come  back.  My  life  is 
gone  out  of  me.  There  is  something  the 
matter  with  the  island.  It  has  changed.  You 
are  the  island  to  me  now." 

She  let  her  face  slip  over  the  edge  of  the 
rift,  where  cool,  dark  moss  could  send  up  its 
breath  to  her,  and  the  rock  give  her  palpitat- 
ing temple  a  reminding  touch.  The  woods 
calmed  her,  their  grays  and  greens  and  inter- 


THE   RIFT    IN   THE   ISLAND  117 

lacing  density  of  stems,  and  their  whisper  of 
a  secret  which  has  lasted  from  the  founda- 
tion of  the  world,  replacing  her  fever  with  a 
kind  of  beatitude.  Power  to  project  herself 
into  the  future  was  gone.  Love  is  itself  eter- 
nity. She  took  no  interest  in  what  might 
happen.  The  one  fact  of  the  universe  was 
present  with  her.  That  primal  instinct  of 
young  creatures  to  believe  in  and  make  a 
religion  of  the  human  being  they  love  is  one 
of  the  best  and  saddest  traits  of  humanity. 

A  chill  grew  in  the  air.  Marie  felt  it,  but 
she  no  longer  resisted  the  warfare  made 
against  us  by  inanimate  things. 

"  Why  did  I  hide  myself  from  him  the  last 
day  he  spent  on  the  island  ?  "  she  asked  her- 
self, finding  no  answer.  "  And  why  did  I 
laugh  at  that  poor  Pani  woman  ?  It  is  her 
turn  to  laugh  at  me  now.  But  I  would  rather 
die  by  fire  than  let  it  be  seen  in  my  face." 

Days  and  months  must  pass,  and  a  mes- 
sage for  which  she  could  not  help  looking 
might  never  come  from  him.  She  would  go 
to  confession  with  concealment  in  her  soul. 
"  I  cannot  endure  it,"  said  Marie,  sitting  up 
in  the  darkening  twilight.  Then  she  remem- 
bered the  chiefs  sudden  proposal  to  marry 


u8  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER      - 

her  at  L'Arbre  Croche  that  morning.  Father 
Jonois  could  forbid  it ;  but  who  would  teach 
her  how  to  bear  her  invisible  bereavement  ? 
She  felt  sorry  for  the  chief  with  a  tenderness 
which  was  not  in  her  before  she  came  to  her 
knees  at  the  tree. 

A  drop  of  rain  fell  on  Marie's  forehead. 
The  white  birch  showed  its  marble  limbs 
against  gathering  blackness.  The  east  wind 
came  on  with  a  roar,  bending  little  trees,  and 
Marie  knew  that  the  lake  looked  as  she  had 
often  seen  it  in  a  rainstorm,  a  dark  yellow 
green,  seeming  to  have  sulphur  in  its  depths; 
and  that  the  sky  above  it  descended  in  ver- 
tical strata,  becoming  one  with  it.  In  other 
times  she  would  have  run  the  intervening 
distance  to  see  the  lake  during  this  distur- 
bance, dashing  out  to  a  cliff,  wet  and  bright- 
eyed. 

The  woods  grew  dark  with  a  steady  down- 
pour, and  on  the  churning  strait  zigzag  tracks 
and  curvings,  such  as  currents  leave  on  an 
ice-field,  could  be  seen,  changing  as  flaws  of 
wind  veered  here  and  there.  The  air  was 
raw ;  and  when  night  came,  autumn  descended 
on  the  midsummer  island.  It  was  so  chill 
that  the  eye  suspected  frozen  spray  upon  the 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  119 

pebbles,  and  the  white  cliffs  had  a  wintry  look 
under  beating  rain.  At  midnight  the  blast 
was  roaring  against  all  the  leaves  in  the  up- 
lands, and  the  pines  tuned  themselves  to  that 
high  song  they  sing  when  the  wind  blows 
ice-laden  from  Labrador.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  summer  could  return,  and  incred- 
ible that  she  was  there,  huddling  her  million 
blooms,  and  cowering  under  this  whip  of  the 
northeast.  The  change  in  the  weather  was  a 
period  set  to  life  which  had  gone  before  it. 
Nothing  could  be  again  exactly  as  it  had 
been  before  this  chill  came  on  the  world. 
The  icy  breath  was  pure,  but  it  blew  the 
glamour  off  the  island. 

Nearly  a  week  of  squaw-winter  crowded  it- 
self into  the  heart  of  June.  All  day  a  drizzle 
fell,  and  gray  clouds  dragged  on  the  water, 
or  tore  themselves  against  headlands.  The 
strait  was  a  flume,  hissing  toward  the  head 
of  Lake  Michigan.  Discomfited  birds  sat  in 
shelter,  calling  sometimes  to  one  another 
with  a  note  like  the  cricket's.  In  the  night 
the  complaints  of  wild  things  could  be  heard. 

Wawatam  and  George  stayed  at  the  fort, 
leaving  the  women  of  the  camp  to  live  on  such 
food  as  had  been  accumulated.  On  the  sixth 


120  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

day  a  slate-colored  sky,  cold  and  smooth, 
spread  over  the  Great  Turtle,  unable  to  dull 
the  new  tints  he  had  acquired.  For  the  frost 
spirit  had  breathed  fire,  and  hints  of  splendor 
appeared  on  masses  of  trees.  Life  warmed 
itself  gradually,  coming  out  of  eclipse.  East- 
ern islands,  miles  distant,  showed  their  blue 
bars.  In  one  place  a  boat's  hull  appeared, 
masts  and  sails  lost  in  falling  mist.  In  an- 
other a  spot  like  a  sun-dog  shone  on  the 
water  in  the  midst  of  opaque  dullness,  or  it 
became  a  plate  of  copper  moving  across  the 
lake.  The  clouds  broke  about  sunset,  and  a 
mountain  stood  one  third  the  height  of  the 
eastern  sky.  At  the  top  a  volcano  of  color 
burst  out.  The  crater  was  a  wide  lap  of  fire. 
Rosy  fog,  changing  its  tints  and  pallors  every 
minute,  glorified  all  the  northern  world. 

Across  the  iridescent  pink  water,  and  mag- 
nified by  luminous  air,  came  a  procession  of 
Indian  canoes,  avoiding  the  opposite  sand- 
spit,  and  beaching  themselves  in  the  bay. 
Always  superstitious  of  life  on  the  island,  the 
ascending  savages  saw,  though  they  said 
nothing  to  one  another  about,  those  brands 
of  autumn  color  on  a  summer  world.  Noko's 
fire  blazed,  but  she  was  somewhere  in  the 


THE   RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  121 

woods,  having  felt  the  vigor  of  breaking  up  a 
winter  camp  revive  within  her  after  the  east 
storm. 

Marie  sat  alone  in  the  lodge  in  her  dress 
of  gull-feathers.  She  had  worn  it  during  the 
wet  days.  Her  braids  hung  over  her  bosom, 
touching  the  dejected  face  on  each  side,  a 
fuzz  of  curling  ends  following  their  outlines 
with  the  distending  effect  of  light.  She  was 
changed  and  deep-eyed.  The  winter  week 
had  ripened  her.  Marie  had  looked  into  that 
abyss  of  unaccomplished  evil  which  some- 
times appals  saints  in  themselves.  She  who 
had  laughed  at  the  prayer  against  murder 
wished  the  chief  would  die.  After  prayers, 
and  in  her  sleep,  and  at  waking,  that  recur- 
ring potentiality  still  thrust  itself  into  her 
mind — "  Something  may  happen  to  the  chief 
to-day."  During  the  wet  week  there  was 
nothing  to  do.  She  sat  and  moved  the 
search-light  of  thought  over  her  relations  to 
the  two  men,  Englishman  and  Chippewa.  It 
was  not  hard  for  Marie  to  divine  the  chiefs 
claiming  her  to  Henry.  She  was  Wawatam's 
squaw,  whom  gratitude  forbade  Henry  ever 
to  see  again.  She  could  appeal  to  Father 
Jonois ;  but  the  chief  had  fraternal  claims 


122  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

upon  her  which  must  trouble  her  as  long  as 
he  lived.  It  really  seemed  best  that  he  should 
die.  His  dying  would  not  bring  her  love 
back  to  her,  but  it  would  lift  from  her  the 
responsibility  for  his  unhappiness.  Noko  and 
George  would  be  readily  enough  adopted  by 
other  members  of  the  tribe.  Then  she  could 
enter  some  sisterhood,  and  one  of  her  pen- 
ances would  be  for  wishing  that  this  very 
convenient  thing  would  happen.  Yet  as  often 
as  it  recurred  to  her  she  was  full  of  terror  at 
herself.  The  chief  had  made  her  the  queen 
of  his  island  world.  No  lonesomest  and  lof- 
tiest soul  has  kept  itself  from  lapping  edges 
with  and  being  worked  upon  by  the  power 
or  weakness  of  fleshly  housed  neighbors.  In- 
visible lines  mesh  and  restrain,  or  draw  and 
distort,  every  one  of  us.  The  selfish  and 
brutal  break  through,  but  fine  and  tender  na- 
tures own  the  responsibility  and  endure  the 
bondage  as  their  part  in  the  redemption  of 
the  world. 

Once  during  the  storm  Marie  had  gone  to 
the  height  above  Henry's  camp.  She  could 
not  bring  herself  to  descend  into  the  amphi- 
theater. The  darkness  of  winter  was  lapped 
up  in  its  glacial  greenness.  She  saw  her 


THE    RIFT   IN   THE    ISLAND  123 

chair  of  rock ;  the  wind  had  torn  the  moss 
cushions  away,  and  heaped  them  on  the  place 
where  he  had  sat  at  her  feet.  There  was  a 
story  in  the  tribe  of  an  Indian  girl  who  had 
flung  herself  from  a  rock  on  the  south  cliff 
because  her  lover  went  away  and  never  re- 
turned. Marie  had  laughed  at  that  story. 
"  I  did  not  then  know,"  she  muttered,  look- 
ing at  the  deserted  lodge.  Its  mats  dripped 
with  slow,  creeping  rain.  The  seasons  would 
pass  over  it,  dropping  it  piecemeal.  "  I  will 
never  come  here  again,"  she  gasped,  and 
ran  through  the  pine  woods. 

While  this  mysterious  force  worked  in  her 
she  lay  on  her  bed  of  nights  in  a  waking 
trance,  silent  and  nerveless,  yet  calling  with 
compelling  might  to  the  man  who  had  left 
her.  The  blood  of  her  French  ancestry — 
wine  and  fire  which  have  sparkled  and  burned 
through  centuries  among  the  slower  nations 
—made  her  swiftly  a  woman.  She  was  the 
ghost-flower,  sprung  tall  and  lucent,  a  white 
flame  of  passion,  in  a  night.  "  I  would  rather 
die  because  I  cannot  have  him,"  thought 
Marie,  "  than  never  to  have  seen  him  at  all." 

The  arriving  multitude  of  Indians  swarmed 
upon  the  plateau  before  Marie  knew  they 


124  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

were  on  the  island.  Strange  warriors  ap- 
peared among  the  Chippewas.  The  aborigi- 
nal visage,  evasive  and  demon-like,  was  mul- 
tiplied many  times  in  the  crowd.  Totems 
unknown  to  her  were  tattooed  on  naked 
breasts  and  arms,  while  nearly  all  the  digni- 
taries of  the  tribe  stalked  into  view.  Squaws 
carrying  children  on  their  backs,  and  hav- 
ing in  their  faces  either  the  hopelessness  of 
drudgery  or  the  broad-cheeked  look  of  hon- 
est beasts,  defiled  in  silent  rows  behind  their 
masters. 

The  hideous  medicine-man  was  there,  with 
moose-horns  bound  on  his  head,  and  his  skin 
glistening  with  decorations  as  the  moving 
body  of  a  snake  glistens.  Marie  looked  away 
from  him,  and  saw  Wawatam  coming  to  the 
lodges.  She  hid  herself  at  the  head  of  her 
bed,  pulling  one  of  her  blanket  gowns  over 
her.  He  called  to  her  in  Chippewa,  and  also 
to  his  grandmother;  but  after  stooping  a 
moment  at  the  lodge  door,  went  away,  evi- 
dently satisfied  that  the  lodge  was  vacant. 
When  Marie  ventured  to  look  out  again, 
George  crossed  that  triangle  of  the  plateau 
which  the  opened  flap  described.  He  had 
the  jocund  leer  of  a  tipsy  faun,  or  any  soul- 


THE  RIFT   IN   THE   ISLAND  125 

less  animal  made  to  take  brandy  in  its  food 
with  astonishing  and  uplifting  results.  The 
pink  of  his  skin  was  inflamed  to  higher  color. 
Little  hairs,  long  grown  about  his  masculine 
chops,  showed  themselves  with  a  new  ten- 
dency to  bristle.  His  hair  stood  in  separate 
shocks.  His  pinafore  trousers  were  greatly 
damaged,  and  it  was  evident  that  no  one  had 
driven  George  to  water  during  the  entire 
week. 

"  Father  Jonois  will  hold  the  chief  to  ac- 
count for  this,"  thought  Marie.  She  noticed 
the  chief's  changed  look.  Wawatam  had  been 
the  most  human  convert  of  Father  Jonois's 
flock.  The  cunning  of  barbarism  was  return- 
ing to  his  face.  An  unhappy  Indian  had  not 
the  resources  of  an  unhappy  European.  Marie 
felt  responsible  for  it.  So  mixed  are  our  good 
and  evil  that  she  closed  her  eyes  and  made 
speechless  appeal  to  heaven  for  the  Chippewa 
she  had  been  wishing  dead.  Wawatam  was 
wary  and  expectant ;  he  watched  the  borders 
of  the  camp.  "  He  is  afraid  the  priest  will 
come  and  find  him  dealing  with  the  medicine- 
man," whispered  Marie. 

She  had  never  witnessed  any  of  her  Chip- 
pewa family's  heathen  rites.  Like  her,  they 


126  THE   WHITE  ISLANDER 

knelt  before  the  chancel  rail  in  L'Arbre 
Croche,  or  bore  the  discipline  of  the  mission- 
ary when  he  made  his  round  of  the  islands. 
One  solemn  council  she  had  seen,  after  the 
great  chief  Pontiac's  war-token  was  first  sent 
through  the  Northwest.  Appeals  of  orators 
then  rang  among  the  trees.  The  sun  shone 
on  burnished  bodies  and  arm-bands,  and 
robes  of  beaver  trailed  the  grass  as  majestic 
fellows  trod  back  and  forth  in  the  passion  of 
eloquence.  This  was  to  be  a  very  different 
rite.  The  medicine-man  stood  with  a  wand 
in  his  hand,  and  his  assistants  measured  and 
marked  ground.  Young  Indians  ran  to  cut 
saplings.  Marie  crept  to  the  lodge  door  and 
drew  the  flap  down,  lest  prying  little  Indian 
boys  should  seek  her  out,  or  their  mothers 
try  to  make  the  lodge  their  refuge;  and 
watched  the  whole  plateau  in  front  of  her 
while  she  held  the  mat.  Directly  across  that 
space  walked  Henry,  with  three  Canadian 
boatmen  at  his  heels.  He  was  in  the  midst 
of  the  busy  tribe  before  they  saw  him.  Then 
their  yell  of  exultation  reverberated  from 
island  to  island,  and  shook  itself  to  silence 
far  away  in  the  east. 


PART   IV 


THE    HIGH    PLATEAU 

\  HATCHET  whizzed  over  the  fire,  mak- 
<L\.  ing  one  revolution,  and  striking  Henry's 
shoulder  with  the  handle  instead  of  the  blade. 
A  dozen  mouths  derided  the  marksman,  and 
other  hatchets  were  poised,  when  a  huge  old 
chief  turned  on  his  young  men  and  stopped 
their  sport.  He  had  a  stern  aspect  suited  to 
the  leader  of  the  massacre  at  Fort  Michili- 
mackinac,  and  he  was  known  to  hate  the 
English  with  a  hatred  scarcely  less  than  Pon- 
tiac's.  Henry  remembered  him  as  the  Grand 
Sautor :  the  French  called  the  Chippewa  na- 
tion Sautors.  He  was  an  able  political  second 
to  the  master  Indian  mind  of  his  day,  and  he 
would  not  now  permit  any  action  taken  in  his 
presence  without  first  consulting  the  envoys 
from  Detroit. 

Henry  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  savages, 
unconsciously  affecting  them  by  his  presence. 


127 


128  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

They  admired  him.  He  had  not  dodged  the 
hatchet.  His  shorn  hair  crisped  in  a  gold 
fleece  over  his  head.  The  flame  in  his  eyes, 
they  afterward  said,  burned  holes  in  them. 

When  Marie  saw  him  she  sprang  up  in  the 
closed  lodge,  but  as  the  hatchet-handle  struck 
him  she  dropped  to  her  knees.  He  was  not 
hurt.  He  stood  alive  among  his  enemies,  and 
near  her.  Marie's  body  bloomed  all  over,  the 
living  smoothness  of  flower-petals  enveloping 
her.  The  sun  and  summer,  the  world,  and  the 
meaning  of  life,  returned,  and  she  lived  infi- 
nitely. Her  blood  buzzed  in  her  ears.  Whether 
we  shall  exist  hereafter  in  a  happier  state,  or 
run,  shivering  souls,  a  long  gantlet  of  woes, 
there  are  instants  here  which  compensate  us 
for  everything. 

" — to  give  myself  up,"  she  heard  Henry 
saying,  as  soon  as  she  could  hear  anything. 

One  of  his  Frenchmen  interpreted,  turning 
from  Henry  to  the  Grand  Sautor  and  from 
the  Grand  Sautor  back  to  Henry  as  the  talk 
proceeded.  Masses  of  wrinkles  around  the  old 
chiefs  eyes  contracted  in  ironical  scrutiny. 

"Why  is  the  Englishman  such  a  fool  as  to 
come  back  and  give  himself  up  when  he  had 
escaped  ? " 


THE   HIGH    PLATEAU  129 

"  You  know  why/'  said  Henry.  "  Because 
I  cannot  have  any  harm  done  to  the  chief 
Wawatam  and  his  family." 

"  There  stands  the  chief  Wawatam.  Who 
has  threatened  to  do  him  or  his  family  any 
harm  ?  " 

Wawatam  stood  with  his  shoulder  toward 
Henry,  lax  and  sullen  in  attitude. 

"  A  message  was  sent  to  me  that  the  tribe 
had  disagreed  about  the  present  he  made  on 
my  account,  and  if  I  escaped  entirely  they  in- 
tended to  burn  him  and  his  whole  family." 

"  Who  told  you  that?" 

"The  chief  himself  told  it  to  a  Pani  woman 
that  Mme.  Cadotte  bought  at  the  fort." 

-The  chief  lied." 

Henry  looked  at  Wawatam,  a  confused  red- 
ness mounting  in  his  face.  "  The  chief  never 
lied  to  me  in  his  life." 

There  was  silence  among  the  Chippewas. 
The  Detroit  Indians  had  made  use  of  the  arts 
of  war,  and  were  at  Michilimackinac  to  stir  up 
recruits,  but  none  of  them  answered  Wawa- 
tam's  grin  as  he  raised  his  head.  They  knew 
that  Henry  was  his  adopted  brother.  It  was 
a  kind  of  betrayal  which  most  nearly  touched 
their  religious  natures. 


130  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  The  Pani  woman  went  with  Mme.  Cadotte 
in  her  boat,  with  the  Englishman,"  said  the 
Grand  Sautor,  examining  evidence.  "  How 
could  the  Pani  woman  carry  a  message  from 
the  chief  when  she  did  not  see  him  after  the 
Englishman  did  ?  " 

"  She  said  he  told  her  when  I  got  into 
the  boat,  but  forbade  her  to  tell  me  before 
it  was  done,  that  if  he  did  not  give  me  up 
at  the  end  of  a  week,  the  tribe  would  come 
over  to  the  island  and  burn  him  and  his 
family.  As  soon  as  we  landed  I  persuaded 
Mme.  Cadotte  to  let  me  take  the  canoe  and 
some  men  and  come  back.  The  weather  was 
against  us.  You  have  all  come  to  the  island 
as  he  said  you  would.  What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  It  is  none  of  the  Englishman's  business ; 
but  we  came  to  consult  the  Great  Turtle." 

Henry  saw  the  medicine-man  and  young 
Indians  bringing  a  load  of  heavy  poles  for  the 
mystic  Turtle  lodge.  The  evening  fire  burned 
harmlessly,  little  bead-eyed  fellows  huddling 
in  copper  nakedness  between  the  blaze  and 
their  mothers'  knees.  Neither  stake  nor  scaf- 
fold of  torment  appeared  to  have  been  thought 
of  by  the  gathered  multitude. 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  131 

"  My  brother  could  have  killed  me  while  I 
was  here/'  said  Henry.  "  Why  did  he  set  a 
trap  to  bring  me  back  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  the  Pani  woman  lied,"  suggested 
the  Grand  Sautor. 

"The  Pani  woman  did  not  lie,"  declared 
Wawatam,  and  he  turned  with  a  fierce  stare 
at  his  English  brother,  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  drawn  down,  and  the  youthfulness  of 
his  face  pitiably  aged  by  deep  creases.  One 
week's  debauchery  had  destroyed  in  him  the 
civilization  of  two  years.  Race  superiority 
in  the  other  man  still  bore  him  down,  and 
overrode  his  Indian  weapon  of  treachery. 
He  felt  one  of  nature's  wrongs.  Henry  lis- 
tened in  silence  to  what  he  had  to  say. 

"My  English  brother's  blood  and  mine  were 
one.  I  hid  him  here,  and  gave  him  food ;  and 
he  took  what  was  mine  away  from  me.  I  let 
him  go  out  of  my  hand,  but  I  fastened  a  cord 
to  him.  When  he  was  gone,  and  I  went  to 
the  black  gown  with  my  complaint,  even  the 
black  gown  was  turned  against  me  by  Eng- 
lish witchcraft,  and  would  not  let  me  have 
the  wife  promised  to  me.  The  black  gown 
said:  'I  will  look  into  the  matter.  Perhaps 
it  is  best  that  no  marriage  take  place  between 


132  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

you  and  the  French  girl  nourished  in  your 
grandmother's  lodge.'  If  this  man  had  not 
come  back  on  account  of  the  Pani  woman's 
words,  I  would  have  followed  him." 

A  deep  breath  was  drawn  by  the  listeners. 
They  said,  "Ho!"  in  admiration.  Every 
English-hating  breast  acquitted  Wawatam, 
and  exulted  in  his  craft. 

"I  did  not  take  what  he  says  was  his," 
denied  Henry,  sternly.  "  That  white  islander 
who  lives  in  his  grandmother's  lodge  scarcely 
looked  at  me  when  I  went  away.  If  a  priest 
would  not  marry  her  to  him,  neither  would 
a  priest  marry  her  to  me.  She  is  too  good 
for  either  of  us." 

"  How  many  times  did  you  see  this  French 
girl  ?  "  inquired  the  Grand  Sautor. 

"  Only  three  times,  when  she  came  with  a 
boy  to  bring  my  food,  and  helped  build  my 
lodge." 

"  Did  Wawatam  send  her  with  food  to  the 
Englishman  ?  " 

Wawatam  answered,  "There  was  no  one 
else  to  send,  except  the  boy,  who  would  for- 
get." 

The  old  chief  looked  at  the  young  one  with 
a  grunt  of  contempt. 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  133 

"  Wawatam  is  a  young  man ;  he  has  learned 
nothing.  And  the  black  gown  does  not  live 
among  us  to  give  or  take  away  our  women. 
Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

Wawatam  replied  that  she  was  probably 
in  the  woods  with  his  grandmother,  getting 
fuel;  the  lodge  was  empty. 

"  Did  you  not  tell  us  that  the  Englishman 
took  her  from  you  ?  " 

"  He  bewitched  her.  She  would  not  go 
with  me  to  L'Arbre  Croche." 

Squaws,  watching  the  ivory  whiteness  and 
muscular  beauty  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  won- 
dered how  any  woman  could  refuse  to  look 
at  him.  The  Canadians  were  rabbits  beside 
him,  broad,  brown-faced  fellows,  lacking  that 
which  comes  and  goes  in  power  through  the 
countenance. 

"The  English  trader  has  come  back  and 
put  himself  in  our  hands,"  said  the  Grand 
Sautor,  summing  up  facts.  "What  shall  be 
done  with  him  ?  " 

Wawatam  took  a  knife  from  his  belt,  but 
the  old  chief  gave  him  a  look  which  no  young 
Chippewa  ever  disregarded.  So  deadly  was 
the  silent  threat  of  the  Grand  Sautor  that  a 
European  has  set  it  down  in  letters — "The 


134  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

most  undaunted  person  could  not  behold  him 
without  some  degree  of  terror." 

One  of  the  Detroit  envoys  stepped  be- 
tween Henry  and  the  Grand  Sautor,  and 
spoke  against  letting  any  Englishman  live. 
Pontiac  was  strong  enough,  if  all  the  tribes 
united  with  him,  to  sweep  the  English  from 
the  country.  Wawatam's  experience  was 
common :  wherever  an  Englishman  went,  he 
took  everything,  and  pushed  his  red  bro- 
ther out  of  his  way. 

When  this  speech  was  interpreted  to  Henry 
he  understood  why  the  Great  Turtle  was  to 
be  consulted.  That  esteemed  and  truthful 
spirit  would  tell  the  tribe  whether  a  war 
against  the  English  would  be  successful  or 
not.  The  Chippewa  nation  hesitated  after 
striking  their  first  blow. 

The  impulse  which  brought  Henry  back  to 
face  these  savages  had  not  turned  to  indigna- 
tion when  he  found  himself  made  a  fool  of. 
He  listened  callously  to  gutturals  on  which 
his  life  hung,  numb  in  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation.  In  the  midst  of  the  interpreting 
he  was  alert  for  a  step  or  a  rustle  of  leaves 
at  the  edge  of  the  woods.  Yet  he  did  not 
own  to  himself  what  was  working  like  mad- 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  135 

ness  in  his  cool  English  blood — that  long- 
ing for  the  one  beloved,  which  men  laugh  at, 
and  die  of,  calling  it  by  some  other  name. 
One  or  two  happily  nested  birds  cheeped  from 
the  oaks  around  the  plateau,  and  the  low  call 
of  an  awakening  owl  came  from  the  woods. 
The  medicine-man,  a  disgusted  practitioner, 
balked  of  his  own  importance,  sat  with  his 
chin  on  his  knees,  waiting  until  the  English- 
man should  be  despatched.  It  was  not  for 
him  to  take  the  word  out  of  the  Grand 
Sautor's  mouth,  but  when  there  was  oppor- 
tunity he  hazarded  the  opinion  that  one 
Englishman  less  would  neither  gain  nor  lose 
the  war;  and  popular  conviction  was  with 
him. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?"  in- 
quired the  Grand  Sautor  of  Henry.  "The 
English  are  no  good,  but  we  do  not  close 
their  mouths." 

Henry  looked  as  relentlessly  at  his  old 
enemy  as  that  enemy  looked  at  him. 

"Why  should  I  say  anything?  I  felt 
obliged  to  come  back,  and  I  am  here.  You 
can  do  what  you  please  with  me  now,  though 
no  Indian  seemed  able  to  kill  me  until  trick- 
ery was  used.  But  it  is  going  to  cost  you 


136  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

dearly  when  you  come  to  settle  with  the 
English,  particularly  Sir  William  Johnson." 

At  that  name  a  wave  of  uneasiness  passed 
through  the  camp.  Sir  William  Johnson's  in- 
fluence extended  from  the  valley  of  the  Mo- 
hawk to  the  extreme  northwest.  He  was  the 
enemy  of  the  French,  but  the  manipulator 
and  virtual  lord  of  many  eastern  tribes.  The 
Chippewas  wished  to  be  at  peace  with  Sir 
William  Johnson,  at  least  until  Pontiac's  con- 
spiracy was  ripe  enough  for  a  successful  sweep 
of  the  continent.  But  at  Henry's  implied 
threat  the  Grand  Sautor  rose  up  in  defiance, 
and  passed  sentence. 

"The  Englishman  came  back  to  save  his 
adopted  brother  from  dying  by  fire.  Even 
he  saw  that  we  had  a  right  to  burn  somebody  ; 
and  we  will  now  use  that  right.  The  English- 
man shall  die  by  fire,  that  none  of  my  people 
be  disappointed/' 

Directly  the  camp  was  let  loose.  Ready 
braves  seized  Henry  and  pinioned  his  arms, 
while  others  tied  his  feet  together.  He  felt 
grim  amusement  at  being  made  so  tame  a 
victim  in  front  of  the  wrinkled  old  idol, 
though  escape  or  defense  was  impossible 
from  the  instant  of  his  surrender. 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  137 

"  You  fellows  who  have  had  my  goods,  and 
paid  me  no  beaver,  can  pay  me  now,"  he  re- 
marked coolly. 

The  delinquents  shouted  when  they  under- 
stood him.  They  would  pay  him,  indeed,  with 
firebrands  thrust  into  his  ears,  his  eyes,  and 
even  down  his  parching  throat.  They  would 
pay  the  whole  English  nation  in  him.  Henry 
kept  his  feet,  and  looked  at  his  adopted  Chip- 
pewa  brother. 

Wawatam  worked  fiercely,  digging  the  hole 
for  the  stake,  driving  in  with  his  moccasined 
foot  a  spade  which  Henry  had  given  him. 
Plenty  of  trees  offered  their  trunks  on  every 
hand,  but  there  must  be  space  for  the  full 
enjoyment  of  roasting  an  Englishman,  and 
the  center  of  the  open  plateau,  in  front  of 
the  lodges,  was  the  spot  chosen.  A  pole 
intended  for  the  Great  Turtle's  lodge  was 
held  by  other  Indians  ready  to  be  packed . 
into  its  earthen  socket.  The  world  was 
then  a  deliberate  world  in  all  its  corners ; 
but  the  intoxication  of  haste  which  this 
continent  produces  worked  even  in  aboriginal 
natures.  It  was  not  long  before  Wawatam 
withdrew  his  spade,  and  sullenly  watched 
the  muscles  on  bare  backs  crowding  around 


138  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

the  post,  and  many  hands  packing  the  dirt 
in.  This  was  the  only  kind  of  planting  to 
which  an  ambitious  young  Indian  would 
degrade  himself. 

When  Wawatam  had  walked  through  the 
woods  guiding  Henry  to  Mme.  Cadotte's  boat, 
he  began  to  regret  planning  the  Englishman's 
complete  escape.  He  scarcely  knew  what  he 
desired ;  but  every  step  in  their  silent  march 
was  a  step  toward  the  end  of  friendship.  At 
one  moment  the  savage  felt  prompted  to  kill 
Henry  in  the  woods,  but  the  spiritual  tie  of 
Indian  adoption  still  held.  It  was  monstrous 
to  hurt  the  person  given  to  him  by  supernat- 
ural signs.  If  Marie  would  go  to  L'Arbre 
Croche  and  be  married,  it  would  be  clear  that 
Henry  had  done  him  no  harm.  If  she  would 
not,  the  story  the  Pani  woman  had  told  him, 
and  the  look  he  had  himself  seen,  demanded 
revenge.  They  had  reached  the  landing,  and 
Wawatam  saw  the  Pani  woman  in  the  boat 
with  Mme.  Cadotte  before  he  hit  on  a  scheme 
to  bring  the  Englishman  back.  Henry  might 
not  respond  to  the  test,  or  he  might  have  to 
be  concealed  about  the  island  again.  Wa- 
watam took  all  chances. 

The  young  chief  had  told  his  hurt  briefly 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  139 

to  his  tribe.  His  own  tongue  failed  to  show 
all  the  change  which  had  come  over  him. 
Little  red  tongues  of  fire  springing  from  fat 
pine-wood  should  talk  for  him.  And  what- 
ever counsel  the  Great  Turtle  might  give, 
Wawatam  was  already  decided ;  he  had  gone 
beyond  his  people  in  hostility  to  the  English. 
The  most  trivial  incidents  accompany  the 
progress  of  death.  Henry  felt  his  sense  of 
humor  turn  abnormally  keen.  The  ludicrous 
side  of  the  life  he  was  about  to  leave  affected 
him  as  a  stimulant  might  have  done.  He  saw 
George  lying  tipsy  on  Marie's  bench,  open- 
mouthed  like  a  dead  fish ;  and  an  old,  hawk- 
faced  Indian  woman  contentedly  chewing  her 
tongue  while  she  rocked  a  child  in  the  con- 
cave of  her  lap.  He  noticed  a  curious  boy 
who  tried  to  peep  under  the  elbows  of  the 
earth-packers  kicked  end  over  end  by  the 
backward  drive  of  a  moccasin.  Children  as 
red  as  hairless  puppies  tumbled  in  a  heap  by 
the  glowing  log.  The  amenities  of  Indian  life 
were  being  practised  around  Henry,  and  he 
fancied  morsels  of  himself  passed  from  hand 
to  hand  on  a  stick.  It  flashed  across  his  mind 
like  a  vision  that  there  are  larger  ways  of 
doing  things  than  any  we  know;  that  an 


HO  THE    WHITE   ISLANDER 

archangel,  for  instance,  might  have  managed 
this  affair  with  honor,  and  without  having 
a  feather  singed. 

Henry's  Canadian  boatmen  sat  down  by 
the  fire,  and  took  the  chance  to  prepare  them- 
selves a  little  supper  before  camping  else- 
where. They  could  not  interfere  with  the 
political  or  personal  revenges  of  a  tribe, 
though  their  master  would  be  sorry  to  hear 
that  the  Englishman  was  burned.  Having 
brought  him  to  the  island,  according  to  orders, 
they  would  rest  a  night  before  taking  the 
boat  back ;  but  nobody  could  expect  them  to 
meddle  with  what  happened  in  the  Chippewa 
camp. 

Sounds  of  chopping  in  the  dusky  woods 
seemed  to  reverberate  along  the  edge  of  the 
sky.  While  some  of  the  Indians  cut  fuel, 
others  ran  with  arm-loads  of  it  to  build  around 
the  stake,  which  towered  ten  feet  high,  having 
the  festive  air  of  a  May-pole.  More  than  one 
knife  would  be  stuck  by  cunning  marksmen 
in  the  bark  over  the  victim's  head,  and  great 
sport  it  would  be  if  every  feint  at  throwing 
made  him  dodge.  And  when  the  hot  air 
should  rush  upward  as  through  a  funnel,  and 
the  top  of  the  pole  begin  to  wave  its  little 


THE   HIGH    PLATEAU  141 

pennon  of  smoke,  there  would  be  no  need  of 
other  light  on  the  high  level.  The  sky  over- 
head was  a  delicate  apple-green,  one  of  those 
illusive  tints  which  the  crimson  and  orange  of 
sunset  leave  in  high  northern  air.  Swarming 
figures  became  less  and  less  distinct  in  outline, 
and  darkness  encroached  from  the  woods, 
bringing  sweet  odors  with  it.  Henry  smelt 
the  pine,  and  remembered  his  first  night's 
plunge  through  the  thickets  of  the  island — 
the  enchanted  island,  to  which  a  man  must 
come  back  though  he  come  to  his  death. 

As  soon  as  their  preparations  were  finished, 
the  Chippewas  dragged  Henry  to  the  stake 
and  tied  him.  His  bright  head  came  up  out 
of  their  buffeting,  and  steadied  itself  against 
the  bark  of  the  young  tree.  Through  all  his 
sensations  he  hoped  that  the  presence  of  the 
Chippewas  had  driven  Marie  to  some  other 
part  of  the  island  for  the  night. 

The  wood  was  piled  around  Henry.  Young 
Indians  who  had  never  seen  a  man  burned 
stood  by  and  learned  cunning  lessons  in  tor- 
ture. The  circle  was  not  built  as  high  as  his 
knees ;  for  a  slow  fire,  steadily  increased, 
would  prolong  the  enjoyment  of  the  camp  far 
into  the  night. 


142  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

Wawatam  himself  carried  a  brand  from  his 
outdoor  hearth  to  light  the  pile.  His  eye  and 
Henry's  met  as  he  knelt  with  the  blazing 
pine.  The  Englishman's  face  was  more  dis- 
tinct than  Wawatam's.  Not  a  word  passed 
between  them,  and  the  barrier  of  flame  began 
to  rise,  and  separated  them  forever. 

Some  Indians  who  thought  the  spectacle 
needed  illumination  at  its  beginning  were 
heaping  wood  on  the  camp-fire,  and  the 
crackle  of  the  resinous  fuel  could  be  heard 
almost  as  far  as  its  light  could  be  seen.  That 
shapeless  black  which  we  cannot  call  mere 
shadow,  but  people  from  childhood  with  mon- 
sters, drew  away  beyond  the  outermost  trees. 
The  ruby  tinting  of  flame  at  night  extended 
along  the  trampled  sward,  and  up  to  oak 
twigs,  seeming  to  edge  the  notchings  of  each 
leaf.  The  skins  of  naked  babies  grew  ro- 
seate under  this  magic  brush ;  and  stilt-like 
shadows  lay  along  the  ground,  mingling,  and 
passing  one  another  in  constant  caricature. 
Night  was  now  overhead  as  well  as  around 
the  little  plane  to  which  man's  stature  raises 
him ;  and  stars  were  suddenly  in  their  places, 
filmed  with  the  light  incense  of  burning 
wood. 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  143 

The  lodges,  opaque  and  weather-beaten, 
were  least  responsive  of  any  objects  on  the 
plateau.  Stolidly  they  witnessed  the  threads 
of  fire  climbing  around  Henry's  feet.  The 
nearest  lodge  kept  its  secret  of  a  French  girl 
who  had  lain  all  of  a  summer  night  with  his 
staff  across  her  breast.  It  was  silent  and 
empty,  the  flap  closing  on  its  vacant  hollow. 
For  when  the  Indians  seized  Henry,  Marie 
had  snatched  the  blanket-gown  at  her  bed- 
head, and  torn  an  opening  between  mats  at 
the  back  of  the  lodge.  Her  desperate  rend- 
ing shook  the  heavy  structure.  Any  Chip- 
pewa  beholder  might  have  fancied  the  Great 
Turtle  spirit  already  invoked,  and  in  the  throes 
of  possessing  the  medicine-man.  But  the 
camp  was  in  such  an  uproar  that  no  one  saw 
it,  or  Marie  herself,  when  she  broke  through 
the  hole  and  ran  with  her  wool  garment  over 
her  head  to  the  nearest  cover  of  trees. 

She  was  leaving  the  open  space  behind,  fly- 
ing through  the  dead  leaves,  half  bent  to  shoot 
under  low-swung  boughs,  when  she  heard  the 
Chippewa  yell,  and  her  flight  became  a  deer's. 
Then  a  sound  of  chopping  mingled  with  In- 
dian exultation,  and  she  knew  there  was  no 
pursuit ;  the  chiefs  young  men  were  merely 


144  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

scattering  to  cut  wood.  Marie  held  both 
hands  on  her  bursting  heart,  letting  the 
blanket  dress  fall  around  her  neck,  and  then 
around  her  waist,  as  her  blood  glowed  and 
moisture  broke  through  every  pore. 

A  path  made  by  prayerward  feet  to  the  rift 
in  the  island  stretched  its  thread  through  the 
labyrinth  of  trees.  She  could  not  see  far 
ahead  in  the  darkness  to  which  twilight 
sunk  there,  and  the  swish  of  leaves  filled  her 
ears.  Headlong  she  ran  against  a  man  in  a 
cassock,  who  caught  her,  and  held  her  pant- 
ing at  arm's  length.  His  white,  benignant 
face  was  dimly  visible.  Brushing  the  twigs 
at  a  respectful  distance  behind  him,  other  feet 
were  coming,  and  Marie  knew  they  were 
Noko's ;  she  had  counted  on  meeting  the 
priest  and  the  Indian  grandmother  in  this  path 
from  the  grotto  chapel. 

Marie  leaned  against  a  tree,  dragging  his 
hands.  "  Run,  Father  Jonois,  to  the  lodges, 
and  stop  the  Chippewas — forbid  them  to  burn 
him ! " 

"  To  burn  whom  ?  " 

"  The  Englishman,  father.  I  broke  through 
the  back  of  the  lodge.  They  are  cutting  the 
wood — I  cannot  speak  !  " 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  145 

Her  suffocating  pulses  hammered  audibly, 
and  the  priest  braced  her  against  the  tree 
with  a  grip  which  calmed.  She  tried  to  con- 
trol her  breath.  Father  Jonois  spoke  quietly. 

"  I  saw  canoes  on  the  lake,  and  suspected 
mischief.  I  was  coming  to  the  lodges.  The 
English  trader  escaped  last  week  in  Mme. 
Cadotte's  boat.  Why  is  he  back  on  the 
island  ?  " 

"  Because  the  chief  sent  him  a  message 
that  we  were  all  to  be  killed  on  his  account. 
He  gave  himself  up." 

The  wail  in  her  voice  told  the  priest  all  that 
he  had  vainly  tried  to  learn  concerning  this 
Englishman  while  examining  her  conscience 
in  the  afternoon.  She  was  reticent  then,  look- 
ing down,  or  at  the  sacred  image  in  the  niche, 
and  speaking  indifferently  of  all  human  be- 
ings. Father  Jonois  had  made  a  trip  to  the 
island  as  soon  as  the  straits  were  safe  for  his 
canoe-man,  to  satisfy  his  conscience  in  the 
matter  of  disposing  of  this  young  French 
girl. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,  my  daughter.  Are 
many  of  the  Chippewas  there  ?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Is  the  old  chief  with  them  ?  " 


146  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

"  Yes,  father." 

Father  Jonois  slightly  shook  his  head. 
"  Since  this  craze  for  war  took  them,  they 
pay  little  attention  to  the  priest." 

He  went  swiftly  forward  on  his  new  errand. 
Whether  Father  Jonois  picked  up  his  cassock 
and  ran,  or  attendant  spirits  drew  the  bushes 
from  his  path,  he  was  so  excellent  a  footer  of 
the  wilderness  that  Marie  could  scarcely  keep 
the  darker  blackness  of  his  figure  in  sight. 
They  left  the  Indian  grandmother  far  behind, 
trudging  under  a  load  of  bark  and  forest 
plunder.  When  the  priest  obliged  Noko 
to  go  as  far  as  the  Virgin's  chapel  with 
Marie,  and  to  receive  religious  prodding  her- 
self, she  combined  pleasure  with  discipline, 
and  stole  time  from  her  prayers  to  forage 
among  things  which  she  better  loved.  It 
was  hard  to  keep  an  old  Indian  woman  fa- 
cing toward  an  image  on  a  rocky  shelf  while 
the  rain-freshened  woods  invited  her,  and 
Father  Jonois  often  let  her  drop  her  beads  to 
go  digging.  She  stopped  many  times  to  rest 
as  night  sifted  on  her  in  the  thickets,  chew- 
ing a  cud  of  tender  beech-mast  or  sassafras 
leaves,  her  nose  and  chin  approaching  and 
retreating,  and  her  sighs  of  content  stirring 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  147 

the  silence  which  inclosed  her.  Chippewa 
yells,  which  shook  echoes  abroad  from  the 
open  place  where  they  were  uttered,  came  to 
her  muffled  through  much  leafage.  If  she 
had  seen  the  glare  growing  at  the  top  of  the 
island,  it  could  have  given  no  alarm  to  a 
householder  with  nothing  to  lose.  Past  the 
anguish  of  loving,  of  despairing,  past  the 
keen  and  useless  cares  of  life,  the  happy  old 
woman  sat  down  in  the  woods  and  went  to 
sleep. 

No  man  was  wiser  in  his  day  than  a  fron- 
tier missionary.  He  knew  when  to  interfere, 
and  when  the  tide  of  returning  heathenism 
was  too  strong  for  him.  Many  a  border  family 
owed  its  safety  to  the  restraining  priest;  and 
many  another  perished  because  even  the  con- 
fessional failed  to  give  him  all  the  clues  to  the 
dark  hearts  he  labored  for.  Father  Jonois 
had  not  been  able  to  prevent  the  massacre  at 
Michilimackinac,  and  the  misery  of  that  ex- 
perience returned  upon  him  as  he  mounted 
the  plateau  and  saw  the  tall  stake  and  its  sur- 
rounding swarms.  Wawatam  was  kneeling 
with  his  torch,  and  flames  crept  up  the  lattice 
of  wood.  Marksmen,  bow  in  hand,  were 
gathering  at  long  range  from  the  stake,  and 


148  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

snaky  eyes  resented  the  black  gown's  appear- 
ance there.  Wawatam  shook  the  priest's  hand 
from  his  wrist. 

"  You  are  lighting  a  fire  to  burn  your  own 
soul  eternally,"  warned  Father  Jonois.  "  Put 
it  out." 

Wawatam  stuck  the  brand  into  another 
place.  Father  Jonois  began  to  tear  down  the 
pile  with  his  naked  fingers,  and  as  many  Chip- 
pewas  as  could  seize  him  dragged  him  back 
from  it.  A  few  years  earlier  they  might  have 
killed  him.  But  the  religion  of  the  black 
gown,  even  when  it  was  disregarded,  had 
now  its  established  power. 

Henry  ground  his  teeth,  the  sweat  of  phys- 
ical anguish  and  faintness  moving  in  drops 
down  his  forehead.  His  face  could  be  dis- 
tinctly seen  in  the  bold  light.  His  arms 
were  bound  down  against  the  smoking  blan- 
ket-coat, but  he  had  thrown  it  back  from 
his  neck  before  the  Indians  seized  him,  so 
that  the  beating  pulses  showed  in  the  white 
brawn. 

"  It  is  not  worth  while  to  think  of  me,"  he 
called  in  French  through  the  shimmering  me- 
dium which  separated  him  from  the  priest. 
" Think  of  the  white  islander,  Monsieur  Jonois, 


THE   HIGH    PLATEAU  149 

and  take  her  away  from  this  wretched  trite 
of  savages/' 

He  called  Marie  by  the  name  he  had  given 
her  instead  of  her  own,  which  Wawatam  might 
comprehend.  This  French  girl,  who  never 
mingled  with  the  tribe,  but  lived  her  secluded, 
happy  life  on  the  island,  had  been  an  object 
of  unacknowledged  superstition  to  the  Chip- 
pewas.  Not  one  of  them  laid  a  hand  on  her 
now  as  she  flew  from  the  woods  and  leaped 
into  the  circle  of  fire. 

Her  electrical  muscles  seemed  to  act  with- 
out volition.  She  did  not  know  what  she  was 
doing,  but  did  it  from  foregone  necessity,  as  a 
mother  comes  to  the  help  of  her  child.  The 
flower- like  skin  of  her  face  was  as  stiff  as  a 
mask  with  the  expressionless  look  of  one  meet- 
ing sudden  death.  The  smoke  swept  sidewise, 
an  inverted  curtain,  showing  her  dress  of  gull- 
breasts  crisping  to  her  body  through  every 
darkening  plume,  the  ends  of  her  braids  and 
the  little  hairs  edging  them  curling  up.  She 
had  a  woolen  garment  in  her  hand,  and  she 
wrapped  it  with  her  arms  around  Henry,  and 
as  she  tried  to  protect  him  her  face  flamed 
with  sweet  helplessness  and  shame.  The  ter- 
rible weeping  aloud  of  a  hopeless  woman 


ISO  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

pierced  the  roaring  crackle  of  the  fire.  Father 
Jonois  heard  it  with  pangs  which  the  mas- 
sacre at  the  fort  had  not  caused  him. 

But  the  sound,  and  Marie's  touch  with  her 
poor  little  muffler,  made  Henry  resplendent. 
All  the  beauty  and  strength  of  the  man,  all 
his  physical  endurance,  and  every  endow- 
ment of  tenderness,  came  upon  him  visibly  as 
the  power  came  upon  Samson.  He  might 
have  submitted  alone  to  the  torture  of  the 
Chippewas,  and  he  knew  there  was  no  hope 
of  escape;  but  he  struggled  until  the  cords 
of  his  arms  cracked.  The  stake  shook.  He 
tore  first  one  forearm  and  then  the  other 
from  his  thongs,  and  lifted  Marie,  shielding 
her  face  and  head  from  the  fire. 

"  Take  her,  Monsieur  Jonois  !  "  he  shouted 
in  French,  and  then  in  Chippewa  to  the  In- 
dians, "  Let  the  priest  go  ! " 

But  Marie  herself  held  to  the  stake  behind 
his  head.  Though  she  did  not  speak  a  word, 
he  knew  she  was  anchoring  her  fate  to  his, 
and  would  not  be  cast  into  safety. 

"  Then  marry  us ! "  Henry  cried,  and  rap- 
ture deadened  physical  pain.  In  that  de- 
lirium of  heat  and  smoke  he  and  the  girl  on 
his  breast  saw  as  a  vision  the  life  they  might 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  151 

have  had  together  —  their  common  hearth 
and  table,  their  days  and  nights  of  unbroken 
companionship.  Marie  needed  no  mother  to 
tell  her  these  things:  the  supplanter  of 
mothers  is  swift  in  teaching.  Every  part  of 
her  which  touched  him  said,  "  I  love  you." 
She  thought  it  like  a  prayer,  "  I  love  you." 
Her  breath  came  and  went,  a  divine  ether, 
instead  of  the  stifling  fumes  of  burning  wood, 
carrying  the  one  speechless  fact  which  made 
it  worth  the  breathing — "  I  love  you — I  love 
you." 

The  instant  of  Henry's  breaking  partly 
loose  was  a  breathless  instant  among  the 
Chippewas.  But  when  he  lifted  Marie,  and 
flung  his  commands  to  priest  and  Indians, 
Wawatam  raised  a  yell.  The  quicksilver  na- 
tures around  the  young  chief  responded. 
They  knew  it  meant  instant  and  cruel  death 
to  the  Englishman  and  the  French  girl  who 
took  up  his  cause.  No  time  for  torture,  or 
tickling  a  victim's  ear,  or  stirring  his  hair 
with  well-planted  arrows.  The  marksmen 
dropped  their  bows,  and  ran  to  a  carnival  of 
fire.  Young  braves  stooped  with  Wawatam 
to  snatch  brands  or  scoop  live  coals  with 
spade  or  bark  platter  or  anything  at  hand 


i$2  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

which  would  carry  them  from  the  camp- 
fire  to  heap  on  the  two  at  the  stake;  and 
Father  Jonois  was  beginning  the  marriage 
service. 

A  missionary  adapted  all  his  offices  to  the 
emergencies  of  life  in  the  wilderness.  These 
two  asking  marriage  were  of  alien  races, 
each  knowing  little  of  the  other's  past.  He 
sincerely  believed  that  one  was  doomed  to 
perdition  and  the  other  required  absolution 
instead  of  wedlock.  Yet  the  Latin  words 
rolled  over  his  lips  as  at  the  command  of 
heaven,  for  that  cry  out  of  the  fire  was  a 
force  as  strong  as  religion. 

The  Chippewas  holding  the  priest  let  him 
go,  and  ran  after  Wawatam.  The  nightmare 
which  had  lasted  so  long  measured  by  pulse- 
beats,  and  so  mere  a  point  of  time  measured 
by  the  march  of  stars,  was  over  before  Father 
Jonois  could  further  interfere.  A  man  run- 
ning across  the  open  place  with  twenty 
strange  Indians  at  his  heels  kicked  the  blaz- 
ing wood  from  the  stake,  and  scattered  it 
with  hands  and  feet  as  far  as  he  could  throw 
it.  His  deerskin  boots  smoked,  and  his  face 
flamed  with  exertion.  He  cut  Henry  loose, 
two  or  three  strokes  of  a  knife  dropping  the 


"FATHER  JONOIS  WAS  BEGINNING  THE  MARRIAGE  SERVICE." 


THE  HIGH   PLATEAU  155 

thongs  around  the  base  of  the  post,  and  his 
men  continued  to  tread  out  brands. 

"Fools  of  Chippewas,"  he  shouted,  "what 
are  you  doing  ?  " 

Indians  who  had  already  lifted  blazing 
pieces  from  the  camp-fire,  stood  in  a  cluster 
like  upright  glow-worms ;  and  others,  shield- 
ing their  faces  and  plucking,  were  startled  in 
the  act.  They  would  have  risen  knife  in 
hand  against  any  other  white  man  in  the 
Northwest  who  assumed  such  authority  over 
them ;  but  M.  Cadotte  was  not  only  their 
friend, — he  had  married  into  their  tribe, — 
he  was  also  the  lord  of  all  the  red  villages 
around  Sault  Ste.  Marie.  They  knew  his  in- 
fluence had  kept  the  Lake  Superior  Indians 
from  joining  Pontiac,  and  their  own  pause 
since  lifting  the  hatchet  had  resulted  from 
that  knowledge. 

As  the  blaze  around  the  stake  was 
quenched,  darkness  again  encroached  upon 
the  plateau  from  the  woods,  though  one  by 
one  brands  were  dropped  back  on  the  camp- 
fire.  Patches  of  creeping  redness,  where 
smoke  was  just  breaking  into  sullen  flame, 
showed  on  Henry's  woolen  clothes.  M. 
Cadotte  pulled  off  his  coat  and  the  priest 


156  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

took  his  cassock  skirts  to  smother  them,  and 
Marie  was  stripped  of  her  heated  blanket- 
cloth,  from  which  the  sewed  feathers  dropped 
like  burnt  gum.  Sudden  terror  of  herself  as 
an  inflammable  material  made  her  submit 
to  have  the  smoldering  dress  torn  off  by 
Father  Jonois,  and  he  shoved  her  through 
the  half  darkness  into  her  lodge. 

The  night  wind,  flowing  from  the  lakes 
across  mossy  forests  cooled  by  a  week's  rain 
and  moist  with  freshly  condensed  dew,  was 
sweet  after  that  hot  breath  of  torment.  It 
came  to  Marie  through  the  hole  she  had 
made  between  the  mats,  and  she  threw  her- 
self on  the  ground  as  she  had  often  thrown 
herself  in  the  lake  water,  prostrate  before  the 
good  God  who  drenched  her  with  such  joy. 

The  Chippewas  drew  together  at  the 
camp-fire,  red  light  shining  between  their 
moving  legs.  Their  brutal  carnival  died  out 
as  quickly  at  M.  Cadotte's  shout  as  it  had 
arisen  with  Wawatam's  yell.  He  noticed 
when  he  approached  them  that  the  young 
chief  Wawatam  was  gone.  M.  Cadotte  was 
too  well  skilled  in  treating  with  Indians  to 
look  around  the  dark  edges  of  the  camp  ap- 
prehensively, but  the  fact  that  Wawatam 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  157 

might  be  skulking  made  him  say  briefly  what 
he  had  to  say.  The  crimson  stack  of  reviv- 
ing brands  gave  him  a  ruddier  hue  than  was 
natural,  though  he  was  a  hale,  well-built 
Frenchman,  dark-haired,  and  very  animated 
in  gesture. 

"  And  have  you  been  sitting  here,  Grand 
Sautor,  and  allowing  your  young  men  to  de- 
stroy their  nation  ?  "  he  inquired,  confronting 
the  old  image. 

The  Grand  Sautor  made  no  reply,  but 
waited  to  hear  what  had  happened  at  the 
Sault  to  make  M.  Cadotte  take  all  this 
trouble  for  an  Englishman.  Some  little  sat- 
isfaction embedded  itself  in  his  wrinkles 
that  the  Englishman  was  at  least  well 
scorched  before  being  turned  loose.  The 
medicine-man,  resting  his  horns  against  a 
tree,  relaxed  in  weary  disgust.  He  knew 
the  Great  Turtle  spirit  would  not  be  con- 
sulted that  night. 

"  As  many  burns  as  there  are  on  that 
young  Englishman's  body,  that  many  Chip- 
pewas  will  Sir  William  Johnson  have  for 
them.  What !  Do  you  not  know  that  this 
man  is  his  relative?  I  would  not  have  let 
the  young  Englishman  come  back  if  I  had 


158  THE  WHITE   ISLANDER 

been  at  the  Sault  when  he  arrived.  But  I 
was  away,  meeting  messengers  sent  from 
Fort  Niagara,  from  Sir  William  Johnson. 
He  sent  for  his  young  relative.  And  he  has 
come  as  far  as  Fort  Niagara  to  meet  the 
tribes  of  the  Northwest.  His  kettles  are 
hung,  full  of  meat.  The  messengers  said  he 
intended  to  load  your  canoes  with  powder 
and  shot  and  blankets,  and  more  presents 
than  you  can  carry  away.  Are  you  so  fond 
of  your  old  bows  and  arrows  for  hunting 
when  you  can  have  firearms  ?  What  will  he 
say  when  I  am  obliged  to  tell  him,  '  Mon- 
sieur, these  fools  of  Chippewas  have  listened 
to  evil  birds  from  Detroit  and  other  places, 
and  have  put  your  young  relative  into  the 
fire?'" 

M.  Cadotte  turned  abruptly  on  the  sullen 
Detroit  envoys  sitting  with  their  knees  up  to 
their  chins. 

"  Did  these  fellows  tell  you  that  Detroit 
is  taken  ?  Detroit  is  not  taken.  It  never 
can  be  taken.  The  St.  Lawrence  River  is 
black  with  canoes,  and  the  canoes  are  full 
of  English  soldiers.  Pontiac  cannot  stand 
against  such  power.  And  here  are  you— 
laying  up  crimes  against  the  lives  of  your 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  159 

women  and  children !  Will  you  go  to  this 
council  at  Fort  Niagara,  and  make  peace 
with  a  people  who  have  you  in  their  hands? 
I  am  of  your  tribe,  and  I  see  nothing  else 
for  us  to  do.  Or  will  you  refuse  ?  The 
messengers  wait  at  the  Sault,  and  you 
must  come  and  tell  them  yourselves  what 
you  will  do." 

Marie  had  not  finished  changing  her  moc- 
casins and  girding  on  one  of  her  blanket- 
gowns  when  Father  Jonois  called  her.  She 
hung  her  beads  in  her  girdle,  and  tied  her 
birch-bark  cap  under  her  chin.  There  was 
nothing  else  for  her  to  take.  She  looked 
back  at  her  wilderness  nest.  Noko's  vacant 
bed  gave  her  a  pang.  She  had  forgotten  the 
old  grandmother.  Noko  must  be  dozing 
somewhere  on  the  path,  under  a  load  of  bark 
and  roots.  What  would  she  do  when  she 
trudged  home  to  the  lodges  and  found  no 
French  girl  ready  to  take  off  her  load  and 
ladle  her  belated  supper  out  for  her? 

"O  dear  Noko ! "  said  Marie. 

But  the  sweet  necessity  of  going  where 
her  love  went  hurried  her  out  of  the  little 
home,  and  she  dropped  the  flap  forever  be- 
hind her. 


160  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

The  camp-fire,  coaxed  by  the  squaws,  was 
lifting  candle-flames  and  making  the  plateau 
flicker.  Those  faces  which  had  always  been 
strange  to  Marie,  distantly  watched  her  now, 
half  sinister  in  their  wordless  scrutiny.  M. 
Cadotte  had  his  Canadians  and  Indians  mus- 
tered, and  he  surrounded  the  Englishman 
with  them.  It  was  necessary  to  hurry  to  the 
boats.  The  fluctuating  aboriginal  temper 
which  he  had  turned  toward  peace  might 
turn  back  toward  war  the  next  minute,  reck- 
less of  consequences.  And  the  young  chief 
Wawatam,  who  had  separated  himself  from 
the  savage  bivouac,  might  work  harm  with 
arrows  in  the  darkness  which  the  follow- 
ing council  would  never  be  able  to  mend. 
M.  Cadotte  was  sincerely  attached  to  his 
Chippewa  relatives. 

"  But  where  is  George?"  said  Marie. 
"  Can  we  not  take  him  along?" 

"No,  no;  it  would  not  do,"  objected  M. 
Cadotte.  The  Frenchman  had  no  mind  to 
make  a  further  breach  with  Wawatam  by 
abducting  his  adopted  son. 

Marie  paused  at  the  bench  where  George 
lay,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  unconscious 
head. 


THE   HIGH   PLATEAU  161 

"  O  poor  George !  Who  will  take  care  of 
him  ? " 

"Make  your  mind  easy,  my  child/'  said 
Father  Jonois.  "  I  will  look  after  George." 

"  But  some  one  must  drive  him  to  bathe, 
Father  Jonois,  or  he  would  not  wash  himself 
once  a  year." 

"I  will  lay  it  upon  him  as  penance," 
promised  Father  Jonois ;  "  as  indeed  it  is  to 
most  of  my  flock." 

"  O  George,  the  saints  also  watch  over 
you,"  whispered  Marie;  and  George  stirred 
in  his  heavy  sleep,  bubbling  half  articulately : 

"All  good." 

Then,  understanding  what  she  risked  by 
pausing,  Marie  hurried  down  the  familiar 
path  to  the  bay  through  the  moist,  sweet 
woods.  Indian-pipes  were  perhaps  spring- 
ing about  her,  parting  dead  leaves  as  they 
shot  like  rising  souls  above  the  earth. 
Would  there  fail  a  girl  to  search  them  out 
and  love  them  while  the  island  stood  on  the 
waters  ? 

Her  island — her  dear  island ! 

And  then  she  remembered  the  chief  who 
had  been  kind  to  her  two  years.  But  Henry 
held  her  hand  against  his  breast  as  they 


162  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

walked.  She  felt  the  pang  of  all  his  burns, 
and  knew  that  every  eye  kept  watch  on 
thickets  ahead ;  and  it  puzzled  her  that  our 
good  and  evil  are  so  mixed  in  this  world  that 
we  cannot  separate  them. 

"  For  what  could  I  not  have  done  to  the 
Pani  woman,"  flashed  through  Marie's  mind, 
"  if  the  Pani  woman  had  this  hand  which  now 
holds  mine  ?  The  poor  chief  cannot  know  it 
was  impossible  for  me  ever  to  go  to  L'Arbre 
Croche  with  him." 

SOUTH  of  the  Cheneaux  islands  there  was 
a  redness  in  the  east  which  surprised  the  eye 
like  dawn  at  night,  until  a  disk  appeared,  in- 
flamed and  pushing  upward.  It  was  the  old 
moon,  diminished  in  figure,  but  grand,  as  the 
lady  of  the  sky  forever  is.  As  the  flush  died 
away,  woods,  islands,  and  immense  stretches 
of  water  sprung  to  distinctness  in  her  mystic 
day,  and  she  unrolled  her  web  of  tapestry 
along  the  rippling  pavement  below.  There 
was  no  more  than  a  ripple  on  the  straits. 

Father  Jonois's  canoe  moved  away  from 
the  little  fleet  heading  toward  the  Sault.  He 
had  just  finished  the  sacrament  of  marriage 
and  his  admonitions  to  the  bridegroom,  while 


THE   HIGH    PLATEAU  163 

the  Canadians  held  the  boats  together  in 
mid-channel.  A  problem  that  had  troubled 
him  two  years  was  now  solved,  and  his  con- 
science acquitted  him  of  the  French  girl  whom 
her  husband  called  the  white  islander.  In 
winter  he  used  to  cross  the  ice  on  a  sledge  to 
make  sure  she  was  well  and  happy  with  her 
Chippewa  household,  and  he  guarded  her  at 
all  seasons  in  the  semi-savage  lot  from  which 
she  sprung  into  beauty.  She  loved  him  with 
veneration ;  yet  she  had  just  kissed  his  hand 
and  turned  away  to  the  uttermost  parts  of 
the  earth  with  a  stranger  she  had  never  seen 
when  that  moon  was  new. 

"  There  are  women,"  thought  the  priest, 
"  who  have  a  vocation  for  loving  as  plain  as 
others  have  for  the  holy  life." 

His  expert  canoe-man,  who  had  ventured 
on  more  than  one  perilous  journey  with  him, 
looked  forward  to  an  easy  night  crossing. 
Widening  triangles  of  light  showed  behind 
the  eastward-moving  boats  as  they  clove  the 
water.  An  auroral  play  of  camp-fire  could 
be  seen  on  the  summit  of  Mackinac  above 
the  white  cliffs  and  foliage  dome.  Night  had 
never  seemed  less  savage  on  that  coast. 
Father  Jonois,  turning  his  back  on  accom- 


164  THE   WHITE   ISLANDER 

plished  duty  and  visible  things,  began  to 
whisper  prayers.  Still  a  glamourous  in- 
fluence, as  resistless  as  music,  stole  out  from 
that  island,  and  followed  the  canoe  while  it 
pushed  its  breastplate  of  foam  toward  sparks 
of  French  windows  at  Fort  Michilimackinac. 


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NOV    21   1937 
NOV   20  1937 


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